ewien. 

j  ^ 


LIBRARY 

JJNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


C 


STEPHEN,    M.D. 


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ROBERT    CARTER    &    BROTHERS, 
NEW  YORK. 


STEPHEN,  M.D 


BY   THE   AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD" 


"As  having  nothing,  and  yet  possessing  all  things" 

— 2  COR.  vi.  10 


NEW    YORK 

ROBERT   CARTER   &    BROTHERS 
530  BROADWAY 

1883 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright,  1883, 
BY  ROBERT  CARTER  &  BROTHERS. 


St.   Johnland  Cambridge: 

Stereotype  Foundry.  Pre3S  °f 

Suffolk  Co..  N.  y.  J°hn  ml*°n 


NOTICE    TO    THE  READER. 


I  have  the  pleasure  to  assure  all  who  care  to  know  if,  that  the 
story  following  is  an  entirely  true  story.  I  mean,  true  in  all  the 
leading  events  and  turns  of  it;  in  what  may  be  called  the  skeleton 
of  the  history.  As  the  play  was  played  out  in  a  past  generation, 
and  the  parties  were  not  personally  known  to  me,  I  can  claim 
the  credit  of  being  a  true  reporter  only  so  far  as  those  facts  are 
concerned;  with  the  further  exception  of  one  or  two  words,  which 
it  is  not  necessary  however  that  I  should  indicate. 

S.  W. 

MARTLAER'S  ROCK, 
June,  13,  1883. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I.    THE    GROCER             ......  9 

II.    MUSH    AND    MOLASSES               .            .            .            .  2O 

III.  ON   TICK 31 

IV.  THIRTY   DOLLARS 44 

V.    INTO   THE   WORLD 55 

VI.     DEEPFORD    INN 64 

VII.    JONTO'S   KITCHEN 77 

VIII.    JONTO          .......  88 

ix.   POSIE  ........  97 

X.   CHIPS        .         .         .         .         .         .         .IIO 

XL  STEPHEN'S  WORK    .         .         .         .         .         .121 

XII.    SHEEP   AMONG   WOLVES            .            .            .            .  132 

XIII.    SUNDAY 148 

XIV.     SERVICE l6l 

xv.   GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE 176 

XVI.    A   CHAPTER  .  .  .  .  .  .192 

XVII.    VOGUE    LA   GALERE              .            .            .            .            .  2OI 

XVIII.    BAD    COMPANY 2l8 

XIX.    SYMPATHY 229 

XX.    THE    CHILDREN 238 

XXI.    THE   SLED 249 

XXII.    SCHOOL   DAYS 26 1 

XXIII.  SCHOOL   DAYS   OVER 272 

XXIV.  VIEWS 283 

(7) 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

XXV. 

PRINCIPLES            .... 

.      296 

XXVI. 

THE   GENTIAN              .            . 

309 

XXVII. 

JOHN    HOWARD     .... 

•      319 

XXVIII. 

THE   COMING   COUSIN 

.             329 

XXIX. 

IN   THE   STATION    HOUSE 

•                 •      338 

XXX. 

ERICK     ..... 

•              351 

XXXI. 

THE   SCREEN         .... 

.      362 

XXXII. 

CAPPING   VERSES 

•       379 

XXXIII. 

ENTHUSIASM          .... 

.   390 

XXXIV. 

FOUR,    OR   FIVE?       . 

401 

XXXV. 

HAPPINESS              .... 

.  409 

XXXVI. 

CAR-FARE         .... 

424 

XXXVII. 

NIAGARA    ..... 

.   434 

XXXVIII. 

POETRY  ..... 

.       448 

XXXIX. 

HOME    AGAIN        .... 

.   466 

XL. 

IDYLLIC              .             .             . 

476 

XLI. 

.   488 

XLII. 

CHESTNUTS     - 

•       497 

XLIII. 

HARD   TALKING  .... 

•   513 

XLIV. 

GETTING    READY 

•       525 

XLV. 

GETTING    AWAY    . 

•   537 

XLVI. 

FOUR   WALLS  .... 

•       550 

XLVII. 

A    SUPPER  

-         -   563 

XLVIII. 

A   SICK   NURSE 

•       577 

XLIX. 

BUSINESS    

.   590 

L. 

BUILDING          .... 

602 

LI. 

A  FRIEND  

.   618 

LII. 

NEWS      

•       639 

STEPHEN,    M.D. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE    GBOCEK. 

"QTEPHEN,  my  boy,  I  must  send  you  out  for 

vJ     me.     I'm  sorry,  now  it  is  raining  again." 

A  little  boy,  of  some  ten  years  old,  lifted  his 
head,  which  had  been  bent  down  over  a  book,  and 
looked  at  the  speaker  expectantly  but  in  silence. 
He  was  a  fair  faced  child,  comely  and  rosy,  even 
although  certainly  neither  face  nor  form  bore  the 
tokens  of  being  full  fed.  And  his  clothes  were 
much  worn,  thin  and  patched.  His  mother  eyed 
him  a  minute  silently,  as  he  lay  there  on  the  floor 
over  his  book;  contrasting  perhaps  the  somewhat 
slight,  delicate  frame  and  very  worn  dress,  from 
which  the  protecting  nap  was  long  since  gone, 
with  the  chill  November  rain  which  was  coming 
down  outside  with  good  will. 

**  What  have  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  Robinson  Crusoe,  mother.     0  it's  splendid ! " 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  ?  " 

"  Bill  Harrison  lent  it  to  me.'* 

"That  was  kind  of  Bill." 

'*  0  he's  read  it  and  he's  tired  of  it,"  said  Stephen, 
(9) 


10  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

his  head  going  down  again  to  the  open  page.     "He 
said  I  might  keep  it  for  ever  if  I  liked." 

"  He  did  not  mean  that,  I  suppose." 

I  don't  know  what  he  meant,  mother;  that  was 
what  he  said.     Mother — " 

"  But  Stephen,  my  boy,  I  have  got  to  send  you 
out.  I  hate  to  send  you  in  the  rain, — but  I  must. 
I  haven't  a  bit  of  meal  in  the  house,  nor  sugar." 

"  You  want  me  to  go  to  Mr.  Harrison's  and  get 
some  ?  " 

"Yes,  or  else  we  shall  have  nothing  to  eat  for 
supper.  And  Stephen,  you  had  better  ask  him  for 
a  quart  of  molasses.  If  you  have  corn  bread  and 
molasses,  you  will  do  very  well." 

"  Don't  you  like  corn  cake  and  molasses,  mother?" 

"Not  so  well  as  you  do." 

"Shall  I  gonoiv?" 

"  Yes,  now,  before  the  rain  turns  the  street  all  to 
mud.  You'll  be  wet  through,  as  it  is,  I  am  afraid." 

Stephen  got  up  and  shook  himself,  and  took  his 
little  old  straw  hat  which  lay  upon  a  chair. 

"Where's  the  money,  mother?" 

"I  have  got  no  money — "  Mrs.  Kay  answered 
with  an  irrepressible  sigh.  "  Tell  Mr.  Harrison  he 
must  trust  me  a  little  longer;  1  will  pay  him  as  soon 
as  I  can." 

Stephen  set  forth.  The  rain  was  falling  in  a 
steady,  cold,  cheerless  way;  riot  blustering,  and  yet 
doing  its  wet  work  with  the  sure  thoroughness  of 
persistence.  It  came  upon  Stephen's  shoulder  and 
went  through  to  the  skin  in  a  few  minutes;  it  drove 


THE  GROCER.  11 

against  one  side  of  him,  and  presently  a  broad, 
dark  stripe  of  colour  went  all  down  his  jacket  and 
half  of  that  leg  of  his  trousers;  it  fell  on  his  old 
straw  hat,  and  soon  the  rain  drops  came  through 
and  were  running  down  his  forehead,  and  over -his 
nose,  and  getting  into  his  neck  behind.  He  put 
up  his  hand  to  brush  them  out  of  his  neck,  but  they 
came  foster  than  he  could  get  rid  of  them.  Then 
Stephen  ducked  and  ran  for  it;  at  least  he  would 
be  in  the  rain  as  short  a  time  as  he  could. 

The  village  street  however  was  long;  and  though 
Mr.  Harrison's  store  was,  as  the  general  shop  of  the 
place  ought  to  be,  very  central  in  its  location,  on 
the  other  hand  Mrs.  Kay  lived  almost  out  of  the 
village.  Her  house  was  beyond  one  end  of  the 
straight,  wide  road  which  ran  for  a  good  half  mile 
to  the  other  end,  where  on  a  little  hill  the  white 
church  stood,  looking  down  over  all  the  secular 
dwellings  of  its  congregations.  So  when  Stephen 
got  to  the  grocery  shop  arid  went  in,  he  was  a  very 
wet  and  somewhat  forlorn-looking  little  boy.  As 
to  his  condition,  that  is;  for  Stephen's  face  very 
rarely  could  be  characterized  by  the  latter  word. 

Custom  was  naturally  slack,  such  a  day;  and  Mr. 
Harrison,  never  very  hard  driven  with  business, 
was  this  afternoon  fully  at  leisure.  He  put  down 
his  newspnper,  and  looked  over  his  counter  at  little 
Stephen  Kay  as  he  stood  there  dripping. 

"  \Vell,  Stephen  !  what's  brought  you  out  in  such 
weather?  Couldn't  you  put  something  more  on,  to 
keep  the  rain  from  you,  child?" 


12  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Thank  yon,  sir.  Mr.  Harrison,  mother  says, 
will  you  let  her  have  seven  pounds  of  Indian  meal, 
and  a  quart  of  molasses,  and  a  little  sugar  ?  " 

"You're  the  civilest  boy  in  town,  Stephen  Kay; 
I'll  say  that  for  you." 

"An'  he's  the  wettest,  I  hope,"  remarked  the 
grocer's  assistant  and  deputy;  a  boy  midway  be 
tween  the  ages  of  the  two  other  human  crea 
tures  present.  "You'd  do  for  a  watering  cart, 
Steve,  if  we  wanted  the  dust  laid;  but  that's 
just  what  we  dorit.  I'll  have  to  mop  up  when 
you're  gone." 

"Never  mind,  Stephen,"  said  Mr.  Harrison. 
"  You're  all  right.  I'm  glad  to  see  anybody  that 
comes  to  buy  of  me.  What  is  it  you  want,  now? 
Meal  and  sugar  ?  " 

"  Seven  pounds  corn  meal,  a  quart  of  molasses, 
and  a  little  sugar,  sir,  mother  said." 

"I  can't  weigh  'a  little'  sugar,  boy;  haven't  got 
any  weight  in  my  shop  of  that  denomination ;  you'll 
have  to  come  closer  to  the  mark.  Here,  Joe,  you 
take  this  pitcher  and  go  draw  a  quart  o'  molasses. 
What  is  « a  little '  sugar,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.     I'll  go  back  and  ask  her." 

"No,  no;  go  back,  indeed!  when  you're  as  wet  as 
a  drowned  rat  already.  No,  no;  we'll  guess  at  it; 
and  I  guess  we  sha'n't  go  far  wrong.  Where's 
your  money?" 

"Mother  gave  me  no  money,  Mr.  Harrison." 

"Didn't,  eh?  How's  that?  Do  you  suppose  sho 
forgot  it?" 


THE  GROCER.  13 

"  No  sir,"  said  Stephen  with  a  little  hesitation, 
"  for  she  spoke  of  it.  She  said,  you'd  have  to  trust 
her  a  little  longer;  she'd  pay  you  as  soon  as  she 
could." 

"  Well,  I  guess  that'll  do,"  said  the  grocer,  fold 
ing  down  the  ends  of  the  paper  bag  of  Indian  meal. 
"Your  mother's  a  good  woman;  she  wouldn't  cheat 
me.  But  Steve,  mind  my  words, — cash  payments 
are  best.  JWhen  you're  a  man,  stick  to  cash  pay 
ments." 

"What's  that,  sir?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Don't  go  on  tick, — don't  run 
up  accounts, — don't  take  things  on  credit,  nor  give 
'em  on  credit.  1  do  it,  you  see,  but  it  is  bad  bus 
iness; — pay  as  you  go." 

"1  understand  that,  sir." 

"  Pay  as  you  go,"  repeated  the  grocer,  scooping 
sugar  into  his  scale, — "  pay  as  you  go.  Then  you've 
got  all  things  nice  and  comfortable,  you  see,  and 
nobody  to  ask  whether  you're  eating  your  own  or 
not,  and  no  bills  coming  in  to  bother  the  life  out  of 
you.  Always  pay  as  you  go,  Steve,  and  you'll  be 
a  happy  man." 

"But  Mr.  Harrison,  suppose  you  haven't  got  the 
money?"  asked  the  little  boy.  The  grocer  did  not 
answer  at  once;  he  was  folding  up  the  sugar  and 
tying  it  up,  whereby  he  took  the  twine  in  his  teeth, 
and  naturally  could  not  at  the  moment  speak.  And 
when  his  teeth  were  released  from  holding  the  twine, 
he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  question. 

"  How're  ye  goin'  to  carry  this  'ere  home  ?  "  Joe, 


14  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

the  assistant,  inquired;  as  he  came  now  from  a  back 
room  of  the  shop  with  the  molasses. 

"How  do  you  calculate  you'll  take  this  molasses 
home,  Steve?"  repeated  the  grocer.  "Did  you 
bring  a  tin  pail,  or  something,  along?" 

"  Never  thought  of  it,  sir  !  "  said  the  little  boy. 

"  And  your  mother  didn't  think  of  it,  either.  I 
wonder  what  she  ivas  thinking  about  ?  " 

"  I'll  run  back  and  get  a  tin  pail,"  said  Stephen, 
turning  to  go. 

"No,  no ;  stop,  child !  not  through  this  down-pour. 
Here — we  must  do  as  we  can  for  to-day. — Now  if 
I  let  you  take  this  home,  will  you  bring  it  back  ? 
Not  through  the  rain,  but  as  soon  as  it  clears  off?  " 

"  I'll  bring  it,  sir.  Just  as  soon  as  ever  the  rain 
is  over." 

"And  keep  a  head  on  your  shoulders  next  time," 
Joe  suggested,  as  he  poured  the  contents  of  his 
quart  pot  into  a  yellow  pitcher; — "  molasses  won't 
go  in  your  pockets,  as  if  it  was  apples." 

This  idea  so  amused  Stephen  that  he  seemed  to 
laugh  all  over. 

"  It  would  go  in,  fast  enough,"  he  said;  "only  the 
trouble  is,  it  would  come  out  as  fast  as  if  it  was 
apples." 

"  Ah  ?  "  said  Mr.  Harrison.  "  So  apples  don't  get 
a  chance  to  stay  in  your  pockets,  eh?  See  if  this 
red-faced  one  will  go  in,  Steve.  How  wet  you  are, 
boy  !  Why  didn't  you  put  on  your  overcoat? " 

This  question  remained  without  an  answer,  Ste 
phen  did  not  seem  to  hear  it;  thanked  the  grocer 


THE  GROCER.  15 

for  his  apple,  laded  himself  with  the  bag  of  meal 
and  the  paper  of  sugar  and  the  yellow  pitcher,  and 
turned  towards  the  door;  then  stopped  and  seemed 
to  bethink  himself.  The  rain  was  still  pouring 
from  the  clouds  in  the  same  steady  way,  steady 
and  pitiless;  though  that  is  a  one-sided  view  of  the 
subject,  for  doubtless  to  the  broad  acres  and  meadows 
which  lay  around  Whitebrook  the  treasures  of  the 
clouds  were  a  welcome  and  needed  blessing.  But 
Stephen  looked  at  the  way  they  were  coming  down, 
and  then  providently  opening  his  jacket  he  tucked 
the  two  packages  as  far  as  he  could  under  the  two 
sides  of  it,  arid  so  manfully  set  forth  again ;  keep 
ing  the  meal  and  sugar  bags  fast  with  each  arm, 
while  both  hands  grasped  the  yellow  pitcher  in 
front  of  him.  The  rain  received  him,  the  minute 
he  set  foot  out  of  doors,  and  beat  down  relentlessly 
on  head  and  shoulders  and  face  and  arms,  and  on 
the  yellow  pitcher. 

"That's  a  plucky  little  chap!"  said  the  grocer 
looking  after  him,  with  a  twinge  of  pity  qualifying 
his  admiration. 

u  It'll  be  molasses  and  water  by  the  time  he  gets 
home,"  said  Joe  chuckling  delightedly. 

"  Whatever  didn't  the  woman  send  a  basket  for!" 
Mr.  Harrison  went  on,  following  with  his  eye  Ste 
phen's  slow  progress  down  the  street. 

"  Haint  got  none,"  said  Joe,  "  nor  110  use  for  'em." 

u  Is  she  so  bad  off' as  that?  " 

"  She  don't  pay  for  iiotliiii'  no  more." 

"  Since  when  ?  " 


16  STEPHEN,  'M.D. 

"  Since  she  put  her  hand  down  to  the  bottom  of 
her  pocket  and  found  there  warn't  nothin'  there. 
She  don't  put  her  hand  in  no  more  now." 

"  How  do  they  live  ?  " 

"On  tick" — said  Joe  grinning.  "Mush  and  mo 
lasses  aint  bad  by  no  means;  if  it  aint  what  you 
call  high  livin' ;  an'  it's  cheap,  if  you  don't  pay  for 
it." 

44  Mrs.  Kay's  an  honest  woman — "  said  the  grocer 
meditatively.  "I  guess  she'll  pay." 

"Them  honest  folks  allays  does  make  a  poor  fist 
of  it,  though,"  said  Joe.  "  I  reckon,  when  a  man 
aint  smart  enough  for  nothin'  else,  he  goes  in  for 
honesty ;  aint  that  so,  Mr.  Harrison  ?  " 

44  They  say,  honesty's  the  best  policy,  Joe." 

"D'ye  believe  it?" 

44 1  am  bound  to  believe  it,"  said  the  grocer  slowly. 

44  Well,  honesty's  meariin'  to  pay,  aint  it?" 

44  That's  meaning  to  be  honest,  I  should  say." 

44  Well  I  reckon,  Mrs.  Kay  means  to  pay.  She 
does,  sure.  But  Mr.  Harrison,  why  doos  them  sort 
o'  folks  never  have  nothin'  to  pay  with? — that's  what 
beats  me." 

Mr.  Harrison  made  no  answer,  and  looked  some 
what  annoyed. 

41  Mr.  Harrison,  I  say!  aint  that  talk  about  honesty 
all  bosh?" 

"  I  hope  not." 

44  Aint  all  things  fair  in  trade  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  believe  the  Bible,  Joe." 

44  That's  all  my  eye  too." 


THE  GROCER.  17 

"What?"  said  the  grocer  almost  angrily. 

"  The  Bible.    About  believin'  it.    Nobody  doosn't." 

"  Nobody  believes  the  Bible  ?  " 

"Well,  I  never  see  the  fust  one  yet." 

"  Joe,  you're  a  fool.  You  have  seen  many  and 
many  a  one." 

"Well  I  haint,  then,  Mr.  Harrison;  and  that's  a 
fact.  All  the  folks  I  ever  see  only  believe  pieces 
of  it — riot  the  hull.  That  aint  believin'  the  Bible, 
is  it?" 

"You  are  talking  nonsense,  Joe.     I  believe  it." 

"  The  hull  on  it  ?  "  asked  Joe  slyly. 

"Of- course,"  answered  the  grocer  boldly. 

Joe  ventured  no  words,  but  he  whistled  with  a 
certain  expressiveness  which  irritated  the  grocer 
beyond  bearing;  he  bade  the  boy  speak  out,  it'  he 
had  anything  to  say. 

"  I  was  only  thinkin' — "  Joe  said. 

"  Think  aloud,  then.  Speak  up,  if  you  have  any 
thing  in  your  mind  like  what  you  seem  to  have. 
What  is  it  ?  Why  do  you  think  I  don't  believe  the 
Bible?" 

"  I  said,  the  hull  on  it,"  said  Joe  in  a  subdued 
manner. 

"  Well,  yes,  the  whole  of  it.  What  part  do  you 
think  I  don't  believe  ?  " 

"  Maybe  you  do  believe  it,  and  it's  only  that  you 
don't  like  it,"  said  Joe. 

"  Like  what  ?  " 

The  question  was  put  with  sharp  vigour  this 
time,  and  Joe  stopped  his  broom;  he  was  sweep- 


18  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

ing  up  the  floor;  leaned  upon  it  and  surveyed  his 
employer. 

"I  was  just  thinkin' — a  feller  can't  help  his 
thoughts,  Mr.  Harrison ;  they  come  like  the  crows, 
when  you  don't  want  'em; — you  know  that  feller 
that  made  such  a  rumpus  with  his  preachin',  an' 
that  everybody  went  to  hear ;  they  called  him  the 
Baptist." 

"  Yes,  I  know  him.     Well  ?  " 

"  Was  he  the  first  Baptist  what  ever  put  his  head 
under  V" 

"Go  along!  that  is  not  what  you  meant  to  say. 
No ; — I  don't  know ; — What  of  him  ?  " 

"  When  the  folks  were  talkin'  to  him  and  askin* 
nim  what  he  wanted  'em  to  do — you  remember  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Go  on." 

"  Well,  he  said, — you  mind  it,  Mr.  Harrison — he 
said,  that  the  man  that  had  two  coats  was  to  go 
and  give  one  of  'em  to  some  feller  that  hadn't  got 
none;  do  you  believe  that,  now  ?  " 

"  I  believe  he  said  it." 

"But  I  mean, — that  aint  it, — I  mean,  do  you 
believe  that's  the  thing  to  do?  Do  you,  now,  boss  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  meant  that  exactly,  not  in  the 
way  you  mean." 

"An'  he  said  victuals  was  to  be  the  same  way, 
didn't  he  ?  " 

"I  believe  so." 

"  An'  you  dorit  believe  it,  for  all  ?  " 

"Well  no,  of  course;  not  just  so." 

"  I  reckoned  you  didn't,"  said  Joe,  with  an  inno- 


THE  GROCER.  19 

cent  simplicity  of  manner.  "That's  what  I  said, 
Mr.  Harrison.  Why  ef  that  was  the  rule,  you'd  tell 
Mrs.  Kay  to  send  along;  and  you'd  never  make  no 
count  agin  her;  and  I  don't  see  no  way  that  you 
could  get  rich,  on  that  pattern." 

"The  Bible  means  there,  that  we  should  be  kind 
and  charitable  to  people  that  aint  well  off." 

"  Jes'  so,"  responded  Joe,  going  placidly  on  with 
his  sweeping.  "I  knowed  that  was  what  you'd 
say." 

The  grocer  scowled  at  his  assistant's  back,  but 
let  the  conversation  drop. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MUSH  AND  MOLASSES. 

BY  this  time  little  Stephen  was  well  on  his  way 
towards  home.  Yet  not  so  far,  either,  for  his 
progress  was  of  necessity  slow.  The  rain  was  mak 
ing  soft,  slippery  mud  of  the  usually  firm  pathway; 
and  it  did  not  occur  to  Stephen  that  the  drenched 
grass  would  give  him  better  footing.  Add  to  this, 
that  he  had  a  paper  package  under  each  side  of  his 
jacket,  which  it  was  necessary  to  guard  very  carefully 
with  his  elbows,  lest  they  slip  through  and  fall  upon 
the  soaked  earth,  where  their  condition  would  very 
rapidly  suffer  damage.  So  he  went  carefully,  find 
ing  it  hard  to  mind  arms  and  feet  at  once,  pinching 
the  bags  of  sugar  and  meal  fast  to  his  sides,  and  at 
the  same  time  holding  carefully  in  front  of  him  the 
pitcher  with  the  molasses.  He  could  not  make  good 
speed;  he  must  perforce  step  warily,  and  ever  and 
anon  he  would  perceive  in  spite  of  his  efforts,  that 
one  or  the  other  bag  was  sliding  down  perilously  tow 
ards  ruin ;  and  then  he  must  come  to  a  full  stop,  push 

the  package  up  to  its  place,  and  take  a  faster  grip 

20) 


MUSH  AND  MOLASSES.  21 

of  it  under  his  arm.  There  was  no  going  very  fast 
in  this  way;  and  when  at  last  Stephen  got  home, 
it  was  a  fairly  drenched  little  boy  that  stood  before 
his  mother.  Circumspectly,  however,  Stephen  re 
leased  first  one  bag  and  then  the  other  from  its 
confinement,  where  it  had  been  so  very  incovenient 
to  him ;  having  previously  and  with  great  caution 
Bet  down  the  yellow  pitcher. 

"  I  guess  they're  all  dry,"  he  remarked  trium 
phantly.  "But  mother,  I  can  tell  you,  it  was  a 
precious  job  to  get  'em  here !  " 

"  Dry  ?  Why  Stephen,  my  son,  you  are  perfectly 
soaking  wet !  0  dear,  0  dear !  As  wet  as  you  can 
be!" 

"  Well  mother,"  said  the  boy  cheerily,  "everything 
couldn't  keep  dry  in  this  rain,  I  can  tell  you.  Some" 
thing  had  to  catch  it" 

"  And  you  have  caught  it  all !  Take  off  every 
stitch  you  have  on,  Stephen,  and  tuck  yourself  up 
in  bed,  till  I  can  get  them  dry  for  you.  Quick, 
now!  Dear,  dear!  I'd  never  have  sent  you,  if  I 
had  known  how  bad  it  was." 

"But  we  hadn't  anything  for  supper,  you  know, 
mother.  Wet  don't  hurt !  It  does  rain  jolly,  though, 
don't  it !  1  guess  you'd  think  so,  if  you  had  been 
where  I've  been.  Mother,  will  you  make  some 
mush  for  supper?" 

"Yes,  yes.     Get  you  into  bed." 

"  And  shall  we  have  some  molasses  with  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Then,  mother,  I'll  tell  you; — let  me  put  on  a 


22  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

dry  shirt,  and  wrap  myself  up  in  some  of  your  things ; 
1  don't  want  to  go  to  bed." 

44  You  will  catch  cold,  my  boy." 

"No,  I  won't.  Earn  don't  hurt.  Let  me  have 
that  old  flannel  petticoat,  mother,  and  your  big 
shawl—" 

Mrs.  Kay  made  some  objections,  but  finally  agreed; 
and  Stephen  and  she  together  wound  him  up  in  all 
sorts  of  things,  till  he  was  a  most  extraordinary  look 
ing  bundle.  Little  did  Stephen  care  for  that;  but 
made  up  the  fire  nicely,  which  he  was  quite  com 
petent  to  do,  and  then  curled  himself  down  on  the 
hearth  in  the  corner  with  his  beloved  Robinson 
Crusoe.  Round  the  fire,  on  chairs,  were  hung  his 
various  own  proper  garments;  soon  steaming  and 
giving  out  the  peculiar  odours  of  wet  cloth  when 
it  is  warm.  Mrs.  Kay  had  hardly  room  to  do  her 
cookery  for  the  supper. 

Stephen,  as  I  said,  had  his  book,  and  had  it  open 
at  his  place  where  he  had  left  off,  with  his  finger 
tucked  in;  and  yet  he  was  not  just  now  absorbed 
in  the  delightful  history.  He  seemed  rather  medi 
tative;  watched  the  fire;  watched  his  mother  mak 
ing  the  sapon ;  cuddled  himself  into  the  corner  with 
an  intense  appreciation  of  dryness  and  shelter  and 
warmth;  and  all  the  while  was  evidently  musing 
over  something.  Mrs.  Kay  was  too  busy  to  notice 
him,  cooking  her  supper,  and  attending  to  the  dry 
ing  clothes,  which  must  be  turned  and  shifted  from 
time  to  time.  Stephen  had  got  hold  of  his  little 
naked  foot,  and  was  thoughtfully  nursing  it,  as 


MUSH  AND  MOLASSES.  23 

one  often  sees  an  older  specimen  of  the  masculine 
kind  do  the  like. 

"Ma,"  said  the  little  boy  at  length,  "why  don't 
you  pay  cash  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mrs.  Kay  stooping  over  her  kettle 
of  mush, — "  why  don't  I  ?  What  put  that  in  your 
head?" 

"  Mr.  Harrison.  He  said,  cash  payments  was 
rest." 

'Well,  so  they  are;  but  I  haven't  got  the  cash, 
o'tephen.  It's  very  easy  for  Mr.  Harrison  to  say 
that;  he's  well  off,  and  has  plenty  o'  money;  it's  as 
easy  for  him  to  pay  cash  as  not.  I'm  sure  I'd  like 
to  do  it  too,  but  without  the  money,  I  should  like 
to  know  how  I  can." 

"But  you're  going  to  pay  some  time,  mother?" 

"Certainly.  As  soon  as  I  get  the  money;  you 
may  be  sure  of  that." 

"  Then  I  don't  see — "  said  Stephen. 

"Don't  see  what?" 

"I  don't  see  what's  the  odds." 

"  The  odds  of  what,  child  ?  What  are  you  talk- 
in'  about  ? " 

"  Mother,  I  don't  see  why  it  aint  jes'  as  easy  to 
pay  cash.  It  don't  take  any  more  money." 

"'Cause  I  haven't  got  it,  boy;  don't  I  tell  you? 
I  never  had  cash  to  pay  down,  since  I  was  married; 
and  now  less  than  ever,  since  I  have  to  make  a  fist 
by  myself.  How  should  I  pay  cash?" 

"  But  mother—" 

"Well?" 


24  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Haint  you  paid  for  all  those  things?" 
"  What  things  ?  " 

"  All  that  you  bought  ever  since  you  was  married  ?  " 

"Of  course  they  are  paid.     I  am  all  paid   up, 

down  to  last  summer  some  time.     We've  always 

been  honest,  if  we've  been  poor.     Nobody  ever  lost 

a  cent  by  your  father  or  me  yet,  Stephen." 

Stephen  puzzled  over  the  question,  why,  seeing 
on  the  whole  the  supply  of  cash  had  been  equal  to 
the  demand,  the  demand  and  supply  could  not  have 
kept  more  nearly  square?  why  must  payment  be  so 
diagonal?     He  did  not  know  exactly  how  to  put  it 
into  words.     Presently  came  out  another  question. 
"Is  Mr.  Harrison  a  good  man,  mother?" 
"  Why  Steve,  why  do  you  ask  me  ?  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do,  that  he  is  a  deacon  in  the  church." 
"  And  is  a  deacon  always  a  good  man  ?  " 
"What's  the  boy  thinking  of?     Of  course  he 
ought  to  be." 
Again  silence. 

"Wasn't  he  willing  to  let  you  have  the  things?" 
"I  guess  he  was,"  said  Stephen  meditatively. 
"  He'd  ha'  liked  better  to  have  the  money." 

"Well,  he  shall  have  it,  some  day.  I  never 
cheated  anybody  of  his  dues  yet;  and  the  Lord 
won't  let  me  begin  now." 

"How  will  the  Lord  help  it,  mother?" 
"I  don't  know,  Steve, — but  I  know  he  will." 
"  Mother,"  said  little  Stephen  very  thoughtfully, 
"how  do  you  know?" 

"  Because  he  has  promised,  child." 


MUSH  AND  MOLASSES.  25 

"Plas  he  ?  " — with  a  sudden  brightening  of  face. 

"  To  be  sure  he  has." 

"  Mother,  I  wish  you  would  shew  me  the  place." 

"  It's  in  various  places,  Stephen;  but  I  can't  do 
ever  so  many  things  at  once;  and  just  now  I  am 
cooking  your  supper.  You  must  wait." 

Stephen  looked  on  contentedly. 

"Mother,"  he  began  again  presently,  "maybe  Mr. 
Harrison  will  give  you  the  things." 

"I  don't  want  him  to  give  me  anything!"  said 
the  widow  decidedly;  "and  he  won't  do  it,  either; 
no  fear." 

"I  don't  think  he  will,"  said  Stephen  sagely; 
"  I  don't  think  he  looks  like  it.  But  mother,  it 
wouldn't  be  no  more  than  fair." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  asked  Mrs.  Kay 
with  a  short  laugh,  Stephen's  views  were  so  very 
primitive. 

"Mother,  when  the  people  gathered  the  manna, 
don't  you  know,  they  all  had  just  alike  ?  I  mean, — 
some  got  a  great  deal  and  some  got  a  little;  but 
they  evened,  it  off;  when  anybody  had  more  than 
he  wanted,  he  gave  it  to  somebody  else  who  hadn't 
got  quite  enough;  and  so  they  all  had  enough. 
Don't  you  remember  Mr.  Bain's  sermon  about  it  ?  " 

"There's  no  manna  nowadays,"  said  Mrs.  Kay 
shortly. 

"No,  but  mother,  that  would  be  fair." 

"  Fair !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Kay.  "  Stephen,  that  would 
be  the  Millennium." 

"What's  the  Mil-len-num  ?  " 


26  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"A  good  time  coming," — said  the  woman  with  a 
sigh. 

"  When  will  it  come,  mother  ?  And  will  every 
body  have  enough  then  ?  " 

"Ay,  he  will."  Mrs.  Kay  began  to  prepare  the 
table  for  supper  now;  not  much  preparation  truly; 
but  she  put  on  plates  and  spoons  and  cups  and  a 
small  pitcher  filled  from  the  quart  of  molasses ;  and 
began  to  dish  up  her  sapon. 

"That's  goin'  to  be  real  good,  mother,"  said  little 
Stephen,  raising  himself  from  the  floor.  "  I'm  glad 
I  went  through  the  rain  to  get  the  molasses,  ain't 
you  ?  We  shouldn't  have  had  anything  to  eat  to 
night.  And  I'm  all  dry  again." 

"  That's  more  than  your  coat  is.  But  come  along, 
my  boy,  and  eat  what  you  can." 

What  Stephen  could,  was  a  goodly  share  of  the 
contents  of  the  pot.  Mrs.  Kay  made  much  less  im 
pression  on  it. 

"I  don't  think  anything's  much  better'n  mush 
and  good  molasses, — do  you,  mother?"  he  said  iu 
his  deep  satisfaction. 

"Hunger  is  the  best  sauce,"  answered  his  mother. 

"Aiiit  you  hungry?" 

"Eat  all  you  want,  my  boy,"  said  the  mother 
kindly,  without  answering  this  question.  "Corn 
meal  don't  cost  much." 

"But  this  aint  paid  for  yet.  What'll  you  do 
when  it's  gone  ?  " 

"Mr.  Harrison  will  trust  me  again,  I  dare  say,  if 
I  haven't  got  the  money/' 


MUSH  AND  MOLASSES.  27 

"  Why  wouldn't  you  like  him  to  give  it  to  you, 
mother?  You  said  you  didn't  want  him  to  give 
it." 

"Nor  I  don't.  And  don't  you,  Stephen.  Don't 
ever  let  anybody  give  you  anything  you  can  work 
for.  One  may  be  poor;  that  one  can't  help ;  but  one 
may  be  independent  too.  Always  be  independent, 
Stephen,  whatever  else  happens." 

"  What  is  '  independent '  ?  " 

"Work  for  yourself,  and  live  on  your  own  earn 
ings." 

"  Weren't  the  folks  independent,  that  had  some 
of  the  manna  given  to  them  ?  " 

Mrs.  Kay  laughed  a  little.  "I  don't  know,"  she 
said;  "  I  suppose  they  had  done  the  best  they  could; 
they  had  gathered  a  little,  you  know.  Some  of  the 
people  might  be  sick,  or  lame,  or  weak,  and  couldn't 
gather  as  much  as  they  needed  before  the  sun  got 
hot." 

"Well,  mother,—  aint  that  like  you?" 

"There's  nobody  to  give  me  of  his  abundance, 
Stephen,  if  it  is.  I  must  work  for  myself." 

"When  will  the  Millen-num  come? — was  that 
what  you  called  it  ?  " 

"  Not  in  my  time,  boy. " 

"Then,  mother,  how  do  you  know  you  will  get 
money  enough  to  pay  Mr.  Harrison?  'Cos,  you 
know,  when  you  send  for  some  more  meal  and  'lasses 
there'll  be  this  to  pay  for  first.  And  that  we  had 
once  or  twice  before." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Kay  again.     "  1  have 


28  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

nothing  but  the  Lord's  promise.  He  will  be  paid, 
somehow." 

"Shew  me  the  promise,  mother." 

The  table  was  cleared  again  and  washed  clean  of 
sundry  drops  of  molasses  and  morsels  of  mush;  and 
Stephen  brought  the  Bible  and  laid  it  before  his 
mother.  Mrs.  Kay  a  little  unwillingly  turned 
from  her  work,  saying  she  did  not  know  whether 
she  could  find  the  places  or  not;  but  finally  turned 
up  the  familiar  passage  in  the  sixth  of  Matthew. 
Stephen  fell  to  studying  it  intently;  and  Mrs.  Kay 
had  forgotten  all  about  him  and  his  questions,  sunk 
in  her  own  thoughts,  when  he  suddenly  came  out 
with  another  question. 

"  '  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  right 
eousness,  and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto 
you.'  Mother,  '  all  these  things  '  means  food  and 
clothes  ?  " 

"  What,  Stephen  ? — Yes,  of  course." 

"  Then,  mother,  what  is  the  '  kingdom  of  God '  ?  " 

"What  is  the  kingdom?" 

"Yes.     What  does  it  mean?" 

"  I  don't  think  the  President  of  the  United  States 
could  beat  you  asking  questions !  I  don't  know 
as  I  can  tell  you,  Steve." 

"But  what  do  you  think  it  means?" 

Mrs.  Kay  was  not  more  ready  with  a  definition 
than  many  another  woman  who  is  unaccustomed 
to  giving  one.  She  took  the  book  from  Stephen 
and  pored  over  the  words ;  as  if  that  would  help 
her. 


-   MUSH  AND  MOLASSES.  29 

" Mother,"  suggested  Stephen  then,  "the  kingdom 
of  heaven  is  spoken  of  in  other  places.  See — "  and 
he  pointed  to  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  chapter. 

"It  is  spoken  of  in  a  great  many  places,  a  great 
many,"  said  Mrs.  Kay;  "but  that  don't  tell." 

Stephen  read — "'Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit, 
for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven/  It  must  mean, 
God's  good  things,  mother." 

"I  don't  think  it  means  just  that." 

"And,  'Blessed  are  they  which  are  persecuted 
for  righteousness  sake,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.' " 

"It  means,  the  kingdom"  said  Mrs.  Kay.  "Don't 
you  know,  Christ  is  King?  His  kingdom; — that 
is  the^kingdom  of  heaven ;  and  these  sort  of  people 
belong  to  it." 

"And  get  the  good  things,"  said  Stephen. 
"  Oh ! —  Then,  '  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  oi 
God' — that  must  mean — what  does  that  mean, 
mother?" 

"  It  means,  care  for  it  most,  and  work  for  it 
hardest  ?  " 

"Oh!—"  said  Stephen  again.  "And  do  you, 
mother?" 

"Do  I?— Do  I  what?" 

"Do  you  care  for  that  most,  and  work  for  it 
hardest  ?  " 

The  child's  face  was  raised  towards  hers,  with 
an  innocent,  honest,  but  withal  somewhat  acute 
inquiry.  Mrs.  Kay  met  his  eyes,  and  sank  her  own. 
She  did  not  answer  readily. 


30  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  can't  explain  everything  to  you  to-night," 
she  said  a  little  huskily.  "You  had  better  go  to 
bed,  Stephen.  Your  coat  will  be  dry  by  morning." 

"  0  mother,  I'm  as  warm  as  can  be.  Mayn't  I 
sit  up  a  little  and  read  ?  Robinson  is  building  his 
house,  and  I  want  to  see  how  he  gets  on." 

Mrs.  Kay  made  no  objection;  she  rarely  made 
any  objection  to  Stephen's  wishes,  if  they  were 
not  absolutely  impracticable;  and  now  the  conver 
sation  had  taken  a  safer  turn  she  let  him  do  as 
he  would.  The  talk  ceased  utterly;  Stephen  was 
buried  in  the  delights  of  Robinson  Crusoe's  adven 
tures,  and  troubled  his  little  head  no  more  about 
questions  of  duty  and  Providence.  Mrs.  Kay  per 
haps  thought  the  more.  What  had  she  cared  for 
most,  and  worked  for  hardest  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON  TICK. 

MRS.  KAY  had  been  a  widow  three  years,  at  the 
time  our  story  opens;  and  they  had  been 
years  of  steady  come-down  in  this  world's  affairs. 
Her  husband  had  followed  a  carpenter's  trade ;  fol 
lowed  it  not  with  striking  success;  however,  he 
was  an  industrious  man,  and  he  and  his  wife  did 
contrive  to  lay  by  a  little  money.  When  he  was 
gone,  Mrs.  Kay  tried  to  keep  herself  and  Stephen 
by  certain  desultory  ways  of  earning  small  sums 
at  a  time.  She  went  out  as  a  nurse;  she  took  in 
sewing;  she  even  took  in  washing;  and  she  culti 
vated  a  small  garden,  from  which  in  summer  the 
mother  and  son  almost  got  their  living;  for  Mr. 
Kay  had  put  it  in  good  heart  and  stocked  it  well 
while  he  had  the  care  of  it,  and  the  fruits  of  his 
care  came  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  his  widow 
and  little  boy.  But  Mrs.  Kay  did  not  get  on  very 
well,  nevertheless.  Whitebrook.  was  a  healthy 
place;  there  was  not  much  nursing  to  do;  it  was 

a  simple  place,  where  most  people  did  their  own 
(31) 


32  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

sewing,  and  their  own  work  of  all  sorts;  and  it 
was  an  out-of-the-way  place,  all  the  pleasanter  for 
that,  where  few  strangers  came,  and  jobs  of  laun 
dry  work  were  only  rarely  to  be  come  by.  All 
that  it  was  possible  for  a  garden  to  do,  Mrs.  Kay's 
garden  did;  even  to  the  weeds,  she  made  them 
useful  as  far  as  she  could;  and  many  a  dish  of 
dandelions  and  purslane  did  she  cook  up  for  her 
and  Stephen's  dinner.  But  to  a  dish  of  greens  a 
bit  of  meat  is  usually  thought  indispensable ;  Mrs. 
Kay  considered  it  so,  and  paid  out  a  little  money 
to  the  butcher.  And  white  bread  she  had  always 
been  accustomed  to,  and  did  not  know  she  could 
do  without;  also  tea  and  coffee,  and  sugar,  and 
butter.  Her  own  hens  she  had,  and  so  eggs  for 
her  use,  which  came  in  very  conveniently ;  but  the 
grocer's  shop  was  a  terrible  place  for  her  ready 
money.  Her  ready  money  all  went,  there  and 
elsewhere;  for  clothes  are  a  necessity  unquestioned, 
though  Mrs.  Kay  bought  few,  and  of  right  coarse 
material;  she  made  the  clothes  herself,  and  she 
saved  them  well,  and  patched  and  mended  them 
carefully ;  and  yet,  alas,  they  would  wear  out,  and 
the  cash  wherewith  to  buy  more  was  every  season 
less  and  less  sufficient.  Till  little  Stephen  went 
mostly  barefoot,  and  his  dress  shewed  too  plainly 
its  darning  and  patching;  even  his  best  suit.  Be 
fore  it  came  to  that,  Mrs.  Kay  had  begun  to  draw 
upon  her  little  fund  in  the  bank.  She  drew  out 
five  dollars,  meaning  to  stop  there;  but  how  could 
she  stop  there  ?  She  took  ten  more,  and  resolved 


ON  TICK.  33 

with  that  to  purchase  some  absolute  necessaries, 
and  then  to  go  without  whatever  else  might  be 
wanted.  So  much  was  wanted !  The  cold  weather 
could  not  be  lived  through,  unless  fuel  could.be 
procured ;  and  fuel  was  a  terrible  item.  Mrs.  Kay 
burnt  as  little  as  she  could  help,  and  Stephen  and 
she  often  were  chilly  in  consequence.  Even  so, 
she  had  to  draw  another  ten  dollars  from  the  di 
minishing  store.  Then  the  score  at  Mr.  Harrison's 
grew  to  proportions  that  frightened  her;  she  could 
not  endure  the  look  and  tone  with  which  the  grocer 
sometimes  accosted  her,  even  when  they  were  com 
ing  from  church;  for  indeed  Mrs.  Kay  seldom  saw 
him  at  other  times.  She  could  not  stand  it;  she 
drew  more  money  and  paid  the  bill.  Now  it  was 
all  gone;  there  was  no  little  store  to  draw  from 
any  longer;  and  winter  was  at  the  doors  again. 
Winter, — and  Stephen's  feet  had  no  covering,  save 
one,  half  worn,  well  saved,  pair  of  shoes  for  going 
to  church  in.  And  less  than  seven  pounds  of  meal 
in  the  house,  less  by  that  evening's  sapon ;  and  the 
tea  nearly  out  too.  Without  a  cup  of  tea  now  and 
then,  Mrs.  Kay  felt  as  if  she  could  hardly  live  and 
hold  up  her  head  at  all.  What  should  she  do? 
Well,  Mr.  Kock  would  trust  her  yet  for  some  wood ; 
and  Mr.  Harrison,  he  would  go  on  trusting  her,  no 
doubt,  also ;  and  she  could  get  a  little  more  tea,  a 
little  would  last  her  a  long  while,  and  meal,  and 
sugar.  But  a  long  while  is  not  always,  and  a 
growing  score  presses  with  not  only  its  present 
but  its  future  weight;  all  at  once;  and  some  day 


34  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

it  would  be  necessary  to  pay.     Where  should  the 
money  come  from  ?     And  what  should  she  do  ? 

Mrs.  Kay  sat  cowering  over  the  embers  of  her 
dying  fire,  with  her  head  in  her  hands.  Once  she 
turned  her  face  a  little,  so  that  she  could  see  Ste 
phen  in  the  bed.  He  was  fast  asleep;  his  rosy  face 
quiet  and  peaceful  as  if  no  cares  hovered  over  his 
waking ;  rosy  and  fair,  as  if  he  were  fed  on  the  fat 
of  the  land  instead  of  bare  meal  and  molasses.  No 
mother  in  all  the  country  had  a  sweeter  little  face 
to  look  upon  and  call  hers ;  there  was  a  manly  cast 
in  it,  along  with  its  honesty  and  innocence,  which 
filled  Mrs.  Kay's  heart  witli  delight  and  bitterness 
at  once.  Why  were  things  so  uneven  in  this  world  ? 
Why  should  Mr.  Harrison,  for  instance,  have  such 
a  plenty,  of  comfort  and  the  means  to  procure  com 
fort,  when  her  own  hand  was  so  empty  ?  He  was 
a  deacon  in  the  church  where  Mr.  Kay  had  been 
an  honoured  member;  where  she  was  an  honoured 
member,  she  believed,  herself;  why  should  Mr.  Kay 
earn  so  little  and  Mr.  Harrison  earn  so  much? 
Were  things  right  to  be  so  ?  She  remembered  that 
in  the  early  days  of  Christianity  things  had  not 
been  so ;  in  those  days  nobody  said  that  anything 
ne  had  was  his  own,  if  another,  a  brother  or  sister 
Christian,  needed  it  with  a  greater  need.  A  little, 
a  very  little,  flowing  over  from  Mr.  Harrison's  full 
cup  into  her  empty  one,  and  what  a  difference  it 
would  make!  Life,  and  hope,  and  health,  and 
comfort;  and  Mr.  Harrison's  own  family  robbed 
of  none  of  these.  Mrs.  Kay  said  to  herself  indeed, 


ON  TICK.  35 

that  she  would  not  take  money  from  him  if  he  of 
fered  it  to  her;  money  nor  anything  else,  as  a  gift; 
but  she  went  on  thinking  how  wonderful  a  change 
it  would  make  if  he  offered  it.  Why  should  there 
be  such  a  difference  between  those  two  houses  in 
the  village  ?  how  had  she  deserved  there  should  be 
such  a  difference  ? 

With  that  came  a  kind  of  pang  of  conscience, 
along  with  the  remembrance  of  the  Bible  words  and 
Stephen's  innocent,  unanswered  question.  Really, 
what  had  she  been  loving  best  and  seeking  most? 
Then  she  rose  up  to  meet  conscience.  What  if  the 
answer  must  be  "Daily  bread?"  If  daily  bread 
were  in  jeopardy,  how  could  she  help  but  that  daily 
bread  should  be  her  first  and  most  anxious  care? 
What,  in  practical  life,  could  come  before  that  ?  She 
knew,  and  remembered  well  at  this  minute,  that  in 
Mr.  Kay's  life-time  he  had  always  put  by  a  certain 
portion  of  his  earnings,  to  be  given  solely  and  sa 
credly  to  the  service  of  God;  to  doing  the  work  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  She  knew  that,  and  she  re 
membered  too  that  in  these  latter  days  of  her  widow 
hood  and  extreme  poverty  she  had  ceased  to  do  the 
same.  How  could  she,  as  she  said  to  herself  at  the 
time  and  now,  how  could  she,  when  ten  dollars  would 
not  begin  to  get  for  her  what  she  needed  with  ab 
solute  need  for  herself  and  Stephen,  how  could  she 
take  one  of  them  and  set  it  aside  for  missionaries, 
or  for  struggling  churches,  or  for  her  minister,  or 
for  other  poor  people  like  herself?  A  whole  dollar? 
that  would  keep  her  and  her  child  from  starvation 


36  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

for  at  least  many  days.  Who  could  need  it  more 
than  she  ?  How  could  she,  from  one  dollar  that  she 
might  have  to  buy  sugar  and  tea  or  flour,  take  one 
whole  dime  to  go  into  the  charity-box  ?  Did  not 
charity  begin  at  home  ?  If  her  rare  pennies  went 
to  convert  the  Indians,  what  should  become  of  the 
fair-faced  little  boy  sleeping  there  at  this  instant 
so  peacefully?  Yes,  she  had  not  given  anything 
for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  this  long,  long  while. 
What  would  have  become  of  her  if  she  had  ?  But 
then  conscience  raised  up  her  head  and  whispered, 
"All  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you."  And 
theri,  most  unwished-for,  swept  into  Mrs.  Kay's 
memory  some,  other  words,  or  rather  a  faint  echo 
of  them,  which  almost  made  her  start.  Then  she 
could  not  rest  till  she  looked  up  the  passage  and 
read  it.  She  sought  it  and  found,  though  not  with 
out  a  little  trouble.  It  is  in  the  prophecy  of 
Haggai. 

"  Ye  have  sown  much,  and  bring  in  little;  ye  eat, 
but  ye  have  not  enough;  ye  drink,  but  ye  are  not 
filled  with  drink;  ye  clothe  you,  but  there  is  none 
warm ;  and  he  that  earneth  wages,  earneth  ivages  to 
put  it  into  a  bag  ivith  holes"  . 

It  went  through  her  like  a  knife.  0  how  well  she 
knew  just  that  experience.  The  possible  reason  for 
it  had  never  occurred  to  her.  Heading  on,  she  saw 
that  the  reason  given  by  the  prophet  in  that  case, 
was  that  the  people  had  been  attending  to  their 
own  interests  and  concerns  and  had  left  the  temple 
of  the  Lord  unbuilt.  The  lesson  was  easy  to  trans- 


ON  TICK.  37 

fer,  but  Mrs  Kay  took  it  hard.  If  she  had  had 
ever  so  little  surplus, — but  with  not  money  enough 
to  get  bread  for  her  own  child,  how  could  it  be  de 
manded  of  her  that  she  should  help  build  the  temple  ? 
There  were  enough  rich  folk  to  do  that.  She  ar 
gued,  without  getting  rid  of  the  command,  or  being 
able  to  forget  the  promise — "all  these  things  shall 
be  added  unto  you."  She  knew  her  husband  would 
never  be  stopped  by  any  seeming  deficiency  of 
means  from  setting  by  the  full  proportion  of  what 
he  had,  to  be  used  religiously  in  the  service  of  God; 
and  as  long  as  Mr.  Kay  had  lived  they  had  always 
"  got  along,"  as  she  expressed  it,  "  somehow."  Had 
she  made  a  mistake?  and  was  this  destitution  the 
bitter  fruit  of  it?  Well,  it  was  too  late  now  to 
mend  things.  And  Mrs.  Kay  knew  that  money 
given  on  a  mere  basis  of  calculation  would  not  meet 
the  conditions  of  either  command  or  promise.  Not 
because  she  paid  in  such  or  such  a  sum  into  the 
treasury,  but  because  she  "  sought  first  the  kingdom," 
would  the  blessing  follow.  It  was  too  late !  She 
had  nothing  any  longer  to  give,  or  she  thought  so; 
and  the  power  to  earn  anything  was  slipping  away 
She  knew  that  very  well.  Work  and  want  and 
worry  and  care,  had  told  upon  a  constitution  which 
had  not  been  hardy  in  the  best  of  times;  and  Mrs. 
Kay's  strength  was  failing.  It  did  not  matter  much, 
she  said  to  herself  despairingly ;  if  she  had  ever  so 
much  strength  there  was  no  work  to  be  had  in 
Whitebrook;  but  the  strength  was  going;  and 
she  believed  a  few  months  would  put  an  end  to 


38  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

her  troubles;  but  what  then  would  become  of 
Stephen  ? 

The  fire  was  long  gone  out;  the  room  was  very 
cold ;  and  Mrs.  Kay  was  chilled  to  the  bone,  I  might 
say,  literally  and  figuratively,  when  at  last  she  crept 
to  her  place  by  Stephen's  side,  and  went  to  sleep 
for  sheer  misery. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes  in  the  morning,  it  was 
to  see  a  little  half-dressed  figure  crouching  upon  the 
hearth,  busy  with  some  bits  of  paper  and  kindling. 
Mrs.  Kay  half  closed  her  eyes  and  watched  him. 
He  raked  open  the  ashes  in  vain;  no  life  of  coals 
was  there.  Then  he  laid  sticks  carefully  and  with 
some  labour,  put  kindling  and  paper  beneath,  and 
got  on  a  chair  to  lift  a  match  box  down  from  the 
mantel  shelf.  The  match  was  lit  and  applied; 
Stephen  watched  and  tended  the  springing  flame, 
giving  it  a  puff  of  breath  now  and  then,  till  the 
wood  caught  and  his  labour  was  over.  Mrs.  Kay 
watched  the  rosy  little  face,  the  intent,  eager,  busi 
ness  look  it  wore ;  the  careful,  softly,  but  thorough 
way  in  which  the  little  fellow  set  about  his  work 
and  did  it;  till  she  could  not  bear  any  longer  the 
thoughts  that  crowded  upon  her,  and  she  sprang  up. 

"Wait  a  little,  mother,"  said  Stephen;  "don't  get 
up  yet;  the  room's  real  chilly.  Wait  till  it  gets 
warm ;  the  fire's  burning  splendidly  now." 

"My  boy,  you  will  take  cold.  You  are  only  half 
dressed." 

"  0  I'm  as  warm  as  can  be.  I  was  afraid  you'd 
wake  up  before  I  got  the  fire  going.  Mother,  we 


ON  TICK.  39 

haven't  a  match  left.  I  took  the  last  one.  I  had 
to  take  it,  for  there  wasn't  a  spark.  I  must  get 
some  more  to-day." 

Mrs.  Kay  sank  back  again  among  her  coverings, 
unable  to  say  a  word  to  that  remark ;  and  Stephen 
gaily  seized  the  kettle  and  ran  off  to  the  well. 

"  There! "  said  he,  as  he  set  it  in  front  of  the  fire, 
now  doing  its  duty, — " there,  mother!  your  kettle 
will  be  boiled  soon  for  your  tea.  But  what  will  you 
have  for  breakfast,  mother?  there's  no  bread.  How 
will  you  do  ? 

"I'll  make  you  some  cakes  of  the  cold  mush,"  she 
said,  getting  up  now  in  earnest.  "I'll  bake  'em  in 
the  pan ;  that'll  be  very  good,  Stephen." 

"  Will  they?"  said  the  little  boy.  "And  can  you 
eat  'em,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Kay  made  some  unintelligible  answer;  and 
Stephen  went  off,  out  of  the  house,  while  she  dressed 
and  put  the  room  up.  Mrs.  Kay  was  always  a  not 
able  woman  and  a  careful  housekeeper;  she  made 
the  room  look  as  neat  as  it  could,  though  since  the 
cold  November  winds  had  forced  her  to  move  her 
bed  into  that  room,  it  never  looked  nice  or  pleas 
ant  in  her  eyes  as  a  place  to  sit  and  live  in.  She 
opened  her  windows,  and  set  things  in  order;  swept 
and  dusted;  and  made  the  bed;  and  finally  per 
formed  her  promise  to  Stephen  about  the  mush 
cakes.  Meanwhile  Stephen  had  been  doing  what 
he  could  in  the  province  which  was  not  properly  a 
woman's.  He  had  cut  some  sticks  of  wood,  with 
superhuman  effort;  the  thought  that  if  he  could  not, 


40  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

his  mother  must,  do  it,  gave  nerve  to  his  small 
arms  and  weight  to  his  blows.  He  had  done  it,  so 
much  as  he  could  do  at  once  of  that  sort  of  work, 
and  he  had  gathered  up  a  basketful  of  light  stuff 
and  chips  and  brought  it  to  the  door.  He  took  a 
turn  through  the  garden,  in  a  sort  of  childish  hope 
of  finding  some  green  thing  that  had  survived  frost 
and  escaped  hitherto  notice;  but  the  garden  was 
brown  and  bare,  as  the  very  bean  poles  which  still 
stood  there.  All  that  Stephen  could  further  do  was 
to  bring  in  two  pailfuls  of  water;  as  the  well  was 
the  one  supply  which  did  not  give  out,  and  he  had 
a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  being  lavish  with  it.  Then 
he  washed  his  face  and  hands  in  some  more  of  the 
clear,  cold  fluid,  and  went  in  to  breakfast.  He 
was  hungry,  and  the  mush  cakes  were  to  him 
delicious. 

"  Where  am  I  going  to  get  some  more  matches, 
mother?"  he  asked  when  he  had  time  to  think 
again  of  ways  and  means. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  boy." 

"You  couldn't  get  along  very  well  without  'em, 
could  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how." 

"  Mother,  how  did  folks  do  before  matches  were 
made?" 

"  They  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"But  I  say,  how  did  they  do?  Suppos'n  we 
hadn't  had  that  match  this  morning,  now;  there 
wasn't  a  spark.  You  forgot  to  cover  it  up, 
mother." 


ON  TICK.  41 

"  I  let  it  go  all  out,  carelessly.  There  was  no  fire 
to  cover." 

"  Well,  suppos'n  we  hadn't  had  that  one  match, — 
what  would  we  have  done,  mother  ?  How  would 
we  have  got  fire  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  You  would  have  had  to  run  up 
street  to  Squire  Leland's." 

"His  fire  might  ha'  gone  out  too.    Suppos'n  it  had?'1 

"  He  has  a  gun,  though." 

"  What  would  he  do  with  a  gun?  " 

u  Strike  fire." 

"Could  he?" 

"  Yes.  I  remember  seeing  my  father  do  it,  once 
or  twice  when  we  had  no  fire  in  the  house." 

"Hoio  could  he,  mother?" 

"  With  the  flint.     I  can't  tell  you  how." 

"Who  taught  the  first  man  to  make  matches, 
mother  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  Stephen,  I'm  sure.  Now  eat  your 
breakfast,  my  boy,  and  no  more  about  it." 

No  more  did  Stephen  say.  But  his  thoughts  did 
not  let  the  matter  drop ;  as  was  proved  when  even 
ing  came,  by  his  bringing  home  a  box  of  the  con 
venient  little  articles  in  question.  He  presented 
it  to  his  mother  with  great,  though  quiet,  satisfaction. 

"  Who  gave  it  to  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Nobody." 

"  How  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"I  paid  for  it,  ma." 

"  Paid.  You  had  not  a  penny  How  could  you 
pay  ?  Where  did  you  find  a  penny?  " 


42  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"Didn't  'find'  one,"  said  Stephen  contentedly. 
"  I'll  tell  you,  mother.  I  hired  myself  out." 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kay.  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Mean  just  that,"  said  Stephen,  not  without  a  lit 
tle  pardonable  elation  becoming  apparent.  "  When 
I  went  by  Mrs.  Hill's  this  morning  she  was  making 
a  great  fuss  over  her  beans;  she'd  been  pickin'  her 
dry  beans,  and  she'd  got  a  great  lot  of  'em,  and 
somebody  had  poured  'em  all  together, — all  the 
sorts; — there  was  big  ones  and  little  ones,  and  red 
ones  and  black  ones  and  white  ones;  she  has  a  lot 
o'  names  for  'em ;  and  they  were  all  mixed  up,  and 
she  said  she'd  never  get  'em  sorted  again.  So  I 
told  her,  if  she'd  pay  me  a  cent  I'd  sort  'em  for  her ; 
and  she  said  she'd  give  me  two  cents,  if  I'd  do  it. 
And  I've  done  about  half,  arid  she  gave  me  one  cent, 
and  to-morrow  she'll  give  me  the  other;  and  I'll  get 
another  box  o'  matches  with  it,  I  guess.  Sha'n't  I  ?  " 

"  Where  did  you  buy  this  one  ?  " 

"  At  Mr.  Harrison's." 

"Did  you  tell  him  how  you  got  your  cent?" 

''No." 

"  What  will  he  think  of  me  ?  Yesterday  I  sent 
you  for  meal,  and  asked  for  credit,  because  I  had 
no 'money;  and  to-day  you  go  to  him  with  money." 

"  Not  much  money,"  said  Stephen  laughing.  "  It 
wouldn't  ha'  paid  for  a  bag  o'  meal  and  a  pitcher 
of  molasses  and  another  bag  of  sugar." 

"No;  but  he  might  think,  if  I  had  one  penny 
I  had  more." 


ON  TICK.  43 

"  No,  but  mother,  I  told  him." 

"  My  boy,  everybody  isn't  as  true  as  you  are." 

"Aint  Mr.  Harrison  true?  Why  mother,  he's  a 
deacon." 

"  He  ought  to  have  given  you  two  boxes  of 
matches  for  a  cent,  if  he  had  thought  it  was  all 
right." 

"  How  '  all  right,'  mother  ?  " 

"If  he  had  thought  I  was  dealing  honestly  by 
him.  Anyhow,  perhaps  he  thought  I  was  in  his 
debt  enough  already,  and  he  would  keep  that  half 
cent,"  Mrs.  Kay  said  a  little  bitterly. 

"  Ma,  that  would  be  making  a  great  fuss  about 
half  a  cent." 

"  You  will  find  people  do  that,  my  boy.  Unless 
you  happen  to  be  rich ;  and  then  they  will  have  no 
objection  to  spend  a  hundred  half  cents  on  you,  and 
never  ask  for  it  back  again." 

"  I'll  explain  it  to  Mr.  Harrison  then,"  said  the 
boy,  with  a  capable  air  which  at  another  time  might 
have  made  his  mother  smile. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THIETY  DOLLAKS. 

THE  unequal  strife  went  on  a  while  longer;  the 
strife  between  strength  which  was  giving  way, 
and  circumstances  which  never  abated  a  jot  of 
their  demands  nor  would  accommodate  themselves 
at  all  to  weak  hands  or  an  empty  purse.  The  ne 
cessity  for  going  on  to  eat,  and  to  makes  fires,  and 
to  be  clothed,  continued  in  its  inexorable  way,  with 
no  regard  of  the  fact  that  there  was  no  money  to  buy 
food  and  firing  and  clothing,  and  no  power  to  earn 
money.  The  power  was  less  and  less,  and  the  de 
mand  was  rather  more,  for  Stephen  was  a  hearty 
little  boy,  and  growing,  and  seemed  to  want  a 
larger  supply,  Mrs.  Kay  thought,  every  month  to 
satisfy  his  appetite.  Perhaps  she  thought  so  because 
with  every  month  the  supply  was  more  difficult  and 
more  precarious.  Her  neighbours  did  not  indeed 
refuse  their  countenance,  and  so  far  as  giving  credit 
went,  their  help.  Other  help  Mrs.  Kay  never  asked ; 
and  she  was  one  of  those  people  to  whom  it  is  rarely 
offered,  unless  by  dear  and  near  friends.  Of  such 
Mrs.  Kay  had  none.  And  with  the  ceaseless,  rest- 

(44) 


THIRTY  DOLLARS.  45 

less  anxiety  about  ways  and  means,  and  the  daily 
and  nightly  worry  of  mind  over  her  condition  of 
debt,  and  loss  of  independence,  and  Stephen's  cloudy 
future,  which  was  a  pressing  and  gnawing  pain  to 
her,  the  health  which  had  never  been  robust  gave 
way,  and  the  strength  which  had  never  been  of  iron 
departed  entirely.  She  could  make  no  pretence  of 
working  any  longer.  All  she  could  do  was  to  pre 
pare  Stephen's  meals  and  keep  her  room  decent;  her 
self  could  hardly  be  said  to  take  meals  any  more. 
From  time  to  time,  as  it  became  absolutely  needful 
to  do  it  or  starve,  she  sent  Stephen  to  Mr.  Harrison's 
for  meal  and  molasses  or  a  five  cent's  worth  of  rnilk ; 
and  the  grocer  did  not  refuse  her,  though  he  some 
times  grumbled;  he  could  not  refuse  her,  for  Mrs. 
Kay  and  her  husband  had  always  been  good  and 
respectable  people.  Nevertheless,  when  she  died, 
and  Mr.  Harrison  found  himself  simply  so  much 
out  of  pocket  on  her  behalf,  and  that  there  were 
no  household  stuffs  or  belongings  the  sale  of  which 
would  go  any  way  towards  discharging  his  debt, 
he  was  very  much  disturbed  in  his  mind. 

For  Mrs.  Kay  died.  Circumstances  got  the  bet 
ter  of  her  in  the  long  slow  fight,  and  at  last  killed 
her.  She  eat  her  heart  out,  so  to  speak,  with  wor 
rying;  and  died  at  last,  of  wear  and  tear  and  des 
titution,  leaving  her  little  boy  to  the  world's  mercies, 
without  one  person  in  it  who  had  any  natural 
reason  to  take  concern  about  him.  Before  she 
died,  she  left  Stephen  one  parting  bit  of  advice;  all 
the  legacy  she  had  to  give  him. 


46  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Stephen,"  she  said  one  day  sorrowfully,  "I  have 
not  just  lived  as  I  ought;  I  have  not  trusted  God 
as  I  ought.  Your  father  trusted  him  better.  But 
be  sure  of  this,  my  boy;  the  Lord  always  keeps  his 
promises" 

Whitebrook  held  a  good  many  kind-hearted  peo 
ple,  more  perhaps  than  more  sophisticated  places 
can  shew ;  and  one  of  them  took  the  friendless  little 
boy  into  her  house  for  those  first  days.  I  cannot 
tell  what  those  days  were  to  Stephen.  He  went 
where  he  was  bidden,  and  did  whatever  he  was 
told;  but  I  think  the  child  hardly  realized  anything 
except  that  he  was  alone.  Grief  possessed  him  un- 
dividedly,  for  a  time.  He  was  but  a  little  boy;  and 
in  the  nature  of  things  it  should  have  been  a  much 
lesser  time  than  older  persons  could  have  remained 
in  the  absorption  of  grief,  or  have  borne  to  remain 
so.  Stephen  was  in  some  ways  old  for  his  years ; 
he  and  his  mother  had  lived  in  very  close  and 
trusting  love  and  sympathy  the  one  with  the  other; 
moreover,  as  he  had  been  too  poor  to  go  to  school 
and  unable  to  dress  like  the  other  children  of  the 
village,  and  as  his  mother  had  been  more  than  or 
dinarily  dependent  on  him,  Stephen  had  been  much 
ess  than  usual  thrown  into  children's  society,  and 
had  become  accustomed  to  older  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  and  views.  With  all  their  poverty  and  need, 
— perhaps  because  of  it  in  part,  the  companionship 
between  him  and  his  mother  had  been  very  sweet. 
In  all  the  world  there  was  nothing  to  replace  that. 
He  had  a  better  breakfast  and  dinner  at  Mrs. 


THIRTY  DOLLARS.  47 

Estey's;  but  it  was  not  a  quarter  so  good  as  his 
mush  cakes  had  been,  with  his  mother  beside  him. 
The  child  mourned  deeply,  sadly;  going  apart  from 
human  notice  and  sympathy  like  a  wounded  ani 
mal.  Yet  when  he  came  back  to  the  family  and 
sat  with  them  at  table,  or  in  the  evening  made  one 
of  the  circle  that  gathered  round  the  fire,  he  did  not 
shew  them  what  he  felt,  and  they  never  suspected 
it.  Stephen  was  very  grave,  but  in  company  he 
made  known  his  feelings  neither  by  words  nor  by 
tears.  Mrs.  Estey  thought  him  dull.  The  children 
said  he  was  stupid. 

"  What  are  you  expectin'  to  do  with  him,  mo 
ther  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Estey  one  day. 

"Time  enough  to  find  out,"  said  the  good  woman. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  We  can't  keep  him  for 
ever.  It's  how  long  ? — since  Mrs.  Kay  died." 

u  Let  the  child  alone  a  bit  yet.  I'll  see  what  is 
to  be  done." 

But  Stephen  himself  decided  this  question. 

A  few  hours  later,  Mrs.  Estey  found  that  she 
wanted  something  in  her  kitchen  work. 

"  Stephen,"  she  cried, — "  Stephen,  won't  you  do 
something  for  me  ?  " 

"Yes  ma'am,"  Stephen  said  readily,  corning  to 
the  table  where  she  was  at  work. 

"  Kun  up  to  Mr.  Harrison's,  won't  you,  and  get 
me  sixpence  worth  o'  cinnamon — I'm  out — there's 
a  good  boy;  and  you  shall  have  a  big  piece  of  apple 
pie.  My  boys  are,  I  don't  know  where." 

Stephen  was  most  willing  to  go,  if  it  had  been 


48  STEPHEN,   M.D 

to  any  other  shop  but  Mr.  Harrison's.  He  had  as 
sociations  with  that  place  and  its  master,  derived 
from  many  a  visit  and  from  the  home  needs  which 
had  sent  him  there.  But  of  course  he  went  for  Mrs. 
Estey;  though  his  heart  swelled,  and  his  feet  de 
layed  in  their  going,  and  his  eyes  were  not  willing 
to  see  the  grocer.  The  unwillingness  however  had 
no  connection  with  a  thought  of  his  mother's  in 
debtedness.  That  complication  had  never  occurred 
to  the  child's  simplicity.  Now  his  mother  was 
gone,  for  ought  he  knew  the  debt  was  gone  likewise. 

It  was  a  raw  day  in  spring;  not  much  business 
doing.  Joe  lounged  at  the  door  of  the  grocery 
store,  looking  up  and  down  the  village  street  for 
possible  customers;  for  things  were,  as  he  said, 
"dull  enough  to  make  a  feller  want  to  do  sunthin'." 
Mr.  Harrison  within  was  talking  to  a  caller,  no  less 
than  Mr.  Bain,  the  village  clergyman. 

"There's  that  there  Kay  boy  comin',"  Joe  an 
nounced  from  his  post  of  observation.  Mr.  Harrison 
paused  a  minute  in  his  conversation. 

"  Not  coming  here,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Guess  likely,"  said  Joe,  "I  shouldn't  wonder. 
He's  got  pretty  much  the  trick  o'  comin'  here. 
Don't  know  how  to  keep  away." 

And  as  little  Stephen  the  next  minute  passed  by 
him  and  entered,  Joe  turned  his  head  to  look  after 
him,  as  if  he  were  somehow  an  object  of  curiosity. 
So  he  was;  for  the  reason  that  persons  who  are 
supposed  to  be  feeling  anything  deeply  are  always 
objects  of  speculation  and  interest  to  their  fellow- 


,  THIRTY  DOLLARS.  49 

men.  The  old  Eomans  brought  it  to  a  pitch  of 
refinement  when  they  set  gladiators  to  fighting  and 
gave  men  and  women  to  the  lions,  or  otherwise  put 
them  to  torture,  and  watched  to  see  how  they  would 
bear  it.  We  do  not  go  so  far  as  to  put  them  to  tor 
ture  ;  but  we  are  very  eager  to  see  how  they  will 
bear  the  torture,  otherwise  inflicted.  And  we  are 
likewise  curious  to  see  how  they  will  manifest 
t-hemselves  under  circumstances  of  peculiar  excite 
ment  which  is  not  disagreeable.  So  Joe  looked 
after  the  little  waif,  and  Mr.  Harrison  paused  again 
in  his  talk  with  Mr.  Bain  to-  turn  his  attention  to 
Stephen.  Stephen  pulled  off  his  hat  with  his 
wonted  polite  reverence  to  both  gentlemen,  which 
Mr.  Harrison  hardly  returned  in  a  kindred  spirit. 

"Well,  Stephen  Kay,"  he  said  coldly,  "what 
brings  you  here?  Have  you  brought  me  any 
money  ?  " 

"Sixpence,  sir." 

"  Sixpence  !     What's  that  for  ?  " 

"  Cinnamon,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"  Cinnamon  ?  What  cinnamon  ?  "  asked  the  gro 
cer  harshly. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  Mrs.  Estey  told  me  to  get 
sixpence  worth  of  cinnamon.  I  believe  she  wants 
it  for  her  apple  pies." 

"  Mrs.  Estey !  So  it's  her  sixpence,  and  she  wants 
the  cinnamon." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  When  are  you  going  to  pay  me  what  you  owe 
me?" 


50  STEPHEN,   M.D.     • 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  that  is," 
Stephen  answered  in  some  bewilderment. 

"You  know  you  owe  me  something,  don't 
you?  You  know  you've  been  coming  to  me  for 
months,  getting  meal  and  sugar  and  tea,  and  I 
don't  know  what  all;  and  no  sixpences  came 
along  with  you,  nor  pennies  neither  ?  You  know 
that,  I  suppose?" 

"  I  know  I  came  for  the  things,"  said  Stephen. 
"  I  didn't  know—" 

"  What  didn't  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  but  they  were  paid  for,  sir." 

Stephen's  face  expressed  a  good  deal  of  trouble. 

"  Why  how  should  they  be  paid  for  ?  "  said  the 
incensed  grocer.  "  Who  should  pay  for  'em?  Did 
you  ever  bring  me  any  money,  all  this  winter? 
Hey?—" 

"  No,  sir, — except  for  matches." 

"Matches!  A  penny  for  matches!  Are  you  a 
fool,  boy?  That  woman  died  owing  me  all  of 
thirty  dollars,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  minister. 
"  Thirty  dollars  I  am  just  out  of  pocket  for  her. 
These  six  or  eight  months  past  she  has  been  send 
ing  to  me  for  whatever  she  wanted  in  my  line,  and 
asking  me  to  trust  her;  and  I  thought  she  was 
respectable, — her  husband  always  paid  his  debts; 
and  if  she  couldn't,  I  supposed  after  she  was  gono 
there  would  be  some  effects  that  would  sell  for 
something ;  but  there  wasn't  a  cent  to  be  got  that 
way.  And  now  I  may  whistle  for  my  thirty  dollars. 
It's  sort  o'  hard  on  a  man  !  " 


THIRTY  DOLLARS.  51 

"  I  suppose  Mrs.  Kay  really  could  not  pay, '  sug. 
gested  the  minister. 

"  Then  she  should  not  have  got  things  under  false 
pretences.  I  don't  believe  in  that  way  o'  doing. 
If  she  couldn't  pay,  first  or  last,  she  had  ought  to 
ha'  said  so,  and  go  to  the  poor  house,  or  take  charity 
where  she  was.  People  had  ought  to  be  more  care 
ful,  when  it's  other  folks'  money  they're  amusing 
themselves  with." 

"  I  suppose  she  thought  she  was  taking  charity," 
said  the  minister  mildly. 

"  Then  she  had  ought  to  said  so,  and  let  me  say 
whether  I  was  willin'  to  give  it.  I  don't  believe  in 
puttin'  your  hand  in  another  man's  pocket  and 
helpin'  yourself,  'thout  tellin'  him  what  you're  doin'. 
Maybe  he'd  like  to  have  a  word  to  say  on  the  sub 
ject.  I  can't  afford  to  give  charity  at  that  rate, — 
thirty  dollars  a  head ; — and  if  poor  folks  must  he 
supported,  I  aint  the  only  one  in  the  place  to  do  it. 
Thirty  dollars  out  of  my  pocket !  " — 

"Ma  didn't  want  charity — "  Stephen  began,  a 
little  huskily. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  She  was  like  a  good  many 
of  us,  that  wanted  to  cut  her  cake  and  have  it  too. 
It  is  better  to  call  things  by  their  right  names;  and 
if  you  are  going  to  live  on  somebody  else's  money, 
it's  honester  to  ask  him  for  it." 

"  Mrs.  Kay  was  a  good  woman,  I  do  believe,"  said 
the  minister  soothingly ;  while  Stephen  swallowed 
and  swallowed,  and  would  not  cry,  and  tried  to  get 
voice  to  speak. 


52  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  I  s'pose  she  was  a  good  woman,"  returned  the 
grocer;  "any  way,  she  warn't  a  bad  one;  but  good 
ness  that  pays  what  it  owes  is  the  kind  I  like." 

Stephen  had  got  his  voice,  and  now  spoke  up 
steadily. 

"  Mr.  Harrison,  I'll  pay  it." 

"Pay  what?" 

"  Mother's  thirty  dollars." 

Stephen  choked  badly  here,  but  managed  to  over 
come  the  convulsion  of  tears  that  had  nearly  un 
manned  him. 

"  You  pay  it !  "  cried  the  grocer.  "  How  do  you 
propose  to  pay  it  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  I  work  for  you,  sir  ? "  said  the  boy 
modestly. 

"Work!  A  little  shaver  like  you!  How  much 
do  you  suppose  you  could  earn  in  a  year  ?  Your 
lodging  and  your  salt,  eh  ?  Do  you  think  you  would 
be  worth  that  to  me?" 

"  I  think  I  could,  sir." 

"  Suppose  you  could  earn  your  salt — which  you 
couldn't — when  would  you  get  thirty  dollars  to 
gether?  That  will  do,  boy;  be  off  with  yourself. 
I  must  put  up  with  my  loss  as  I  can." 

"I  will  pay  you,  Mr.  Harrison,"  said  the  little 
fellow  stoutly.  "As  soon  as  I  can." 

"  It  is  worth  while  to  put  in  that  provision,"  said 
the  grocer.  "Now  go.  What  do  you  want ?" 

"  The  cinnamon,  sir,  for  Mrs.  Estey.  Here  is  the 
money." 

Mr.  Harrison  weighed  out  the  sweet  spice,  with 


THIRTY  DOLLARS.  53 

which  Stephen  had  from  that  day  an  indestructible 
association  of  shame  and  trouble.  As  he  received 
the  package  however,  he  said  again  significantly 
and  with  great  distinctness, 

"You  shall  be  paid,  Mr.  Harrison." 

He  left  the  shop  steadily,  passing  by  Joe's  curi 
ous  eyes;  and  having  the  paper  of  spice  in  his  hand, 
bent  his  attention  for  the  first  thing  to  delivering 
it  to  the  hand  of  its  right  owner.  He  came  into 
the  kitchen  where  Mrs.  Estey  was  still  at  work, 
laid  the  paper  down  on  the  table,  and  disappeared 
immediately,  not  even  staying  to  answer  her  thanks. 
Nor  did  any  one  see  Stephen  again  for  hours.  His 
child's  heart  was  overcharged  with  pain,  and  over 
burdened  with  a  problem  of  life-work  he  knew  not 
how  to  solve.  Tears  were  the  first  thing;  they  had 
waited  and  must  have  their  way;  but  nobody  knew 
where  they  were  shed,  nor  indeed  that  they  were 
shed  at  all.  Stephen  climbed  to  the  hay  loft  of 
Mr.  Estey's  barn,  and  there  he  lay  outstretched  in 
the  hay,  prone  upon  his  face ;  in  one  of  those  states 
of  feeling  when  the  mind  has  so  much  to  bear  that 
it  seems  as  if  her  colleague  the  body  had  no  energy 
left  to  support  an  ounce  of  its  own  weight;  in  sym 
pathy  with  its  oppressed  sister.  The  world  was 
very  big  and  empty  to  the  little  creature  there,  and 
one  of  its  many  undischarged  liabilities  was  press 
ing  with  terrible  weight  upon  his  sense  of  obliga 
tion  and  his  sense  of  powerlessness;  although  the 
amount  of  the  liability  was  but  thirty  dollars.  He 
must  pay  the  debt — and  he  could  not;  he  must  pay 


54  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

it — and  how  should  he  get  the  means  ?  with  these 
thoughts  Stephen's  soul  was  tossed  and  swayed  and 
shaken,  as  the  ground  with  an  earthquake,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  feeling  would  not  be  still  enough  to 
let  him  think.  And  oh,  far  more,  his  lost  mother; 
and  the  reproach  brought  on  her  name,  and  the 
words  he  had  been  obliged  to  hear  that  day  arid 
could  not  silence  nor  refute ; — it  shook  the  child's 
soul  with  a  great  agony.  He  lay  there  long,  motion 
less  in  the  hay,  except  as  at  times  his  whole  little 
body  was  convulsed  with  sobs ;  and  I  am  sure  there 
were  some  locks  of  hay  in  that  place  that  would 
never  need  salting  when  they  came  to  be  cut  up 
for  the  cattle.  How  time  went  Stephen  had  no 
knowledge;  he  entirely  ignored  the  dinner  hour, 
and  in  truth  forgot  it.  And  after  long  wrestling 
with  grief,  finally  lost  it  all,  for  the  time,  in  a  child's 
refuge  of  sleep. 


CHAPTER  V. 

INTO  THE  WOELD. 

WHEN  he  waked,  his  passion  was  over  and  he 
could  think.  He  sat  up  in  the  hay  and  gave 
himself  to  that  somewhat  difficult  operation.  He 
must  determine  what  he  would  do.  For  him  to  raise 
thirty  dollars,  there  was  no  way  but  to  work.  At 
least,  no  other  way  even  suggested  itself  to  Stephen's 
fancy.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  money  could 
be  got-  by  begging;  and  indeed,  I  am  afraid  the 
genius  of  men  and  things  at  Whitebrook,  and  the 
views  of  life  prevalent  there,  would  not  have  been 
favorable  to  any  application  of  that  sort  which  Ste 
phen  might  have  made.  People  had  quite  as  kind 
hearts  there  as  in  most  other  parts  of  the  world ; 
they  were  by  no  means  averse  to  helping  their  needy 
fellow- townsmen;  but  they  had  their  own  notions 
as  to  how  the  thing  should  be  done,  and  above  all, 
they  had  habits  fixed  as  the  polar  star.  To  raise 
a  subscription  to  pay  off  a  debt  to  Mr.  Harrison,  no 
longer  owed  by  any  living  person,  would  have 
seemed  to  them  rather  an  undertaking  for  the  gro 
cer's  benefit ;  and  would  hardly  have  found  approval, 
(55) 


56  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

or  commended  itself  to  their  hard  sense  as  a  rea 
sonable  thing.  Stephen  never  thought  of  it.  He 
must  earn  the  money.  He  would  earn  it.  So  he 
must  work.  What  could  he  do  ?  And  who  wanted 
what  he  could  do  ?  He  studied  the  matter.  So  far  as 
he  knew,  nobody  in  Whitebrook  was  at  all  likely  to 
need  his  services.  He  could  not  think  of  anybody 
with  whom  an  application  for  work  would  stand 
the  ghost  of  a  chance.  At  the  same  time,  Stephen 
had  long  been  a  helpful  little  boy  to  his  mother, 
and  he  thought  there  must  be  somebody  in  the 
world  to  whom  he  could  again  be  useful.  How  to 
find  the  person  ?  if  such  a  one  existed.  Of  that  he 
had  little  doubt.  But  how  to  bring  the  supply  and 
demand  together? 

He  did  not  know.  Only  by  degrees  so  much 
seemed  clear;  that  if  it  was  not  in  Whitebrook,  it 
must  be  somewhere  else.  Then  his  first  step  must  be, 
to  go  away.  And  whither  could  he  go,  for  the  first 
move,  but  to  the  next  village  ?  The  next  village 
was  called  Deepford.  It  was  on  a  small  stream 
which  turned  the  wheels  of  one  or  two  factories ; 
Stephen  knew  so  much,  but  he  had  never  been  there. 
It  was,  he  believed,  some  six  miles  off.  He  would 
go  to  Deepford.  He  settled  that  with  himself.  He 
would  ask  God  to  take  care  of  him,  and  he  would 
go.  When  ?  That  was  the  next  question. 

He  rolled  himself  down  from  the  hay  and  went 
out  of  the  barn.  The  sun  was  well  in  the  west ;  the 
day  was  going  on  towards  evening;  there  could  be 
no  journey  undertaken  before  another  day.  Stephen 


INTO  THE  WORLD.  57 

must  have  supper  and  lodge  once  more  under  Mrs. 
Estey's  kind  roof.  He  wished  supper  was  ready. 
Should  he  tell  anybody  what  he  was  going  to  do  ? 
Must  he  bid  Mrs.  Estey  good  bye  ?  Would  she  try 
to  hinder  him,  if  he  did  ?  He  could  not  be  hindered. 
But  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  authority  might  be  too 
much  for  him.  He  debated  this  new  question  with 
himself;  and  could  not  decide  it.  Till  the  next  morn 
ing  carne,  and  then  he  thought  he  must  speak.  It 
would  not  be  "  manners,"  to  go  away  without  so 
much  as  saying  "Thank  you."  But  he  waited  till 
breakfast  was  over  and  the  boys  had  gone  to  school, 
and  Mr.  Estey  also  had  left  the  house.  It  was  not 
Stephen's  plan  to  take  him  into  his  confidence.  He 
lingered  about  the  table  where  Mrs.  Estey  was 
washing  up  her  cups  and  plates. 

u  It's  most  time  you  took  to  school  going,  Stephen," 
she  remarked,  kindly  enough.  "  You  haint  ben  in  a 
long  while,  hev  you  ?  " 

"I  never  went,  ma'am." 

"Never?  Good  sakes!  Why  didn't  you  go, 
child?  My  boys  go  as  soon  as  ever  they're  big 
enough  to  walk  it." 

"Mother  wanted  me,"  said  Stephen  softly. 

"Yes,  yes.  But  now  you  can  go.  I  think,  ef  I 
was  you,  I'd  take  a  start  and  begin  to-morrow." 

"I'm  goin'  away,"  said  Stephen. 

"  Goin'  away  ?  Goin'  where ?  What  do  you  mean 
by  that,  child  ?  Who  wants  you  to  go  away  ?  " 

"I  want  to  go,  ma'am.    I  am  going  to  get  work." 

"Work!— Where?     Who  wants  you  to  work?" 


58  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"I  don't  know  yet.  I  am  going  to  Deepford.  I 
wanted  to  say  good  bye — " 

And  here  Stephen  broke  down.  He  had  not 
meant  to  do  any  such  foolish  thing;  but  somehow, 
just  at  that  minute,  the  mention  of  bidding  fare 
well  to  Mrs.  Estey  who  had  been  good  to  him,  and 
Whitebrook  which  had  been  the  home  of  his  happy 
and  unhappy  days,  made  his  throat  grow  thick  and 
brought  a  heaving  convulsion  in  his  little  breast. 
Stephen  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  on  the  edge  of 
the  great  kitchen  table  where  Mrs.  Estey  was  at 
work,  and  the  good  woman  fairly  paused  in  her  pie 
crust  making  to  look  at  him. 

"You  aint  goin'  to  bid  me  good  bye  just  yet, 
sonny,"  she  said  kindly.  "Who's  ben  talkin'  to 
you,  to  put  that  in  your  head?  You're  welcome 
while  you  stay,  and  when  you  go  there'll  be  some 
other  home  open  for  you.  Cheer  up  1 " 

For  Stephen  was  sobbing ;  but  he  presently  raised 
his  head  again,  and  cleared  his  eyes  of  the  salt  drops 
which  lingered  in  them. 

"  Now  don't  you  bother  yourself  no  more,"  said 
Mrs.  Estey,  beginning  to  mould  and  turn  her  pie 
crust  again.  "Can't  you  find  somethin'  to  do  to 
amuse  yourself,  till  the  boys  comes  home  from 
school  ?  You  can  stay  here  by  the  fire,  if  you  like, 
and  help  me  bake  my  pies." 

"  No,  ma'am,  thank  you,"  said  Stephen. 

"Well,  find  somethin'  out  doors  then.  I'll  be 
bound  you  can.  But  be  on  hand  for  dinner,  and 
don't  lose  it  as  you  did  yesterday." 


INTO  THE  WORLD.  59 

Stephen  did  not  know  what  more  to  add;  he 
did  not  want  to  draw  on  a  discussion  of  his  pur 
pose,  which  stood  fast;  still  less  to  provoke  in 
terference  with  it.  He  had  said  good  bye;  what 
remained  ? 

Slowly  he  turned  and  left  the  kitchen,  and  went 
out  at  the  little  courtyard  gate.  Nobody  was  near, 
to  question  his  movements,  and  nobody  would  have 
thought  of  questioning  them  at  any  rate.  The  idea 
of  what  the  boy  had  it  in  heart  to  do,  would  cer 
tainly  have  occurred  to  no  grown-up  dweller  in 
Whitebrook.  Stephen  turned  his  back  upon  the 
village,  his  childhood's  first  home,  and  struck  out 
on  the  road  to  Deepford. 

But  the  "  striking  out "  of  little  legs  not  eleven 
years  old  is  at  the  best  a  very  gentle  and  gradual 
process;  unless  indeed  they  run;  and  Stephen  was 
in  no  such  hurry;  and  quite  wise  enough  to  know 
too,  if  he  had  been  in  a  hurry,  that  it  would  not  be 
his  quickest  way.  He  was  wise  enough  to  know 
that;  yet  in  life  knowledge  still  so  very  unwise, 
that  it  never  entered  his  head  to  take  any  of  his 
clothes  along  with  him,  nor  that  it  might  be  pru 
dent  to  ask  Mrs.  Estey  for  a  bit  of  bread  and  cheese 
or  gingerbread.  Totally  unprovided  for  even  the 
wants  of  the  day,  Stephen  set  out  on  his  life  journey. 
One  thing  he  had  to  do,  to  pay  his  mother's  debt 
and  clear  her  name;  one  resource  and  help  he  had, 
his  trust  in  One  who  has  said  to  his  people — "  Leave 
thy  fatherless  children  to  me."  Not  that  Stephen 
knew  those  particular  words;  but  others  he  knew, 


60  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

and  his  mother's  parting  charge  he  remembered, — 
that  the  Lord  keeps  his  promises. 

So  he  set  out  to  go  to  Deepford,  stepping  out 
manfully.  It  is  a  sort  of  sight  I  fancy  the  angels 
look  on  with  great  sympathy.  Little  human  feet, 
so  small  that  they  took  but  a  little  piece  of  road  at 
each  step,  yet  going  their  life-way  alone;  a  small 
childish  face,  fresh-coloured  and  fair,  innocent  of 
the  world's  wisdom,  yet  bound  to  meet  the  world's 
handling  and  take  up  the  world's  work;  weak  little 
hands,  that  were  fit  for  not  much  beyond  a  primer 
and  a  marble,  already  stretched  forth  to  do  a  man's 
task.  And  all  that  in  the  sublime  unconsciousness 
of  childhood,  ignorant  of  the  issues  involved  and 
the  forces  engaged  and  the  dangers  to  be  encoun 
tered.  Stephen's  face,  was  very  innocent,  albeit  there 
was  a  steadfast,  honest  manliness  in  it,  and  the 
promise  of  shrewd  intelligence.  He  knew  too  little 
yet  to  be  shrewd.  But  enough  to  be  manly,  be 
yond  the  wont  of  ten  years  and  a  half  old.  So  step 
by  step  his  little  feet  put  the  road  behind  him,  and 
by  slow  half  miles  he  went  on  and  on  over  the  way 
between  Whitebrook  and  Deepford ;  patient,  strong 
in  purpose,  and  strong  also  in  hope. 

It  was  early  when  he  set  out;  very  soon  after 
the  breakfast,  which  Farmer  Estey  always  had  be 
times.  Early  in  a  spring  morning,  with  dew  drops 
lying  thick  on  the  wayside  grass  and  a  soft  fog 
veiling  all  but  the  very  near  landscape.  Fences  on 
either  side  the  broad  road ;  the  wheel  way  and  the 
footpaths  and  between  them  wide  strips  of  grass 


INTO  THE  WORLD.  61 

aforesaid ;  these  were  visible  enough ;  while  beyond 
the  fence,  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  only  a  misty 
bit  of  meadow,  or  spring  grain,  or  ploughed  land 
came  into  view.  Warm  yellow  light  was  struggling 
through  the  fog,  promising  that  the  sun  would  be 
out  and  have  things  his  own  way  by  and  by.  It 
was  the  beginning  of  May.  Here  and  there  a  tree  by 
the  wayside  shewed  its  tender  foliage  just  unfolding ; 
others  had  only  swelling  buds ;  one  young  maple  drew 
Stephen's  attention  by  its  beautiful  red  clothing. 
The  whole  little  tree  was  red ;  a  clear,  deep,  almost 
dark  colour ;  as  if  its  opening  buds  had  been  cut  in 
garnet,  or  here  and  there  in  fiery  ruby.  That  red 
tree  he  noticed  with  delight,  and  never  forgot,  nor 
ever  failed  in  all  the  subsequent  springs  of  his  life  to 
look  out  for  others  of  the  same  kind.  He  noticed 
little  else,  except  by  degrees  indeed  the  length  of 
the  way;  for  six  miles  is  a  good  stretch  for  little 
legs  to  measure  off  foot  by  foot.  And  Stephen  was 
accustomed  to  meadows  and  farm  fields,  and  thought 
nothing  of  them.  He  did  not  trouble  himself  with 
thinking  much  about  anything,  not  even  his-  pros 
pects.  Why  should  he?  He  was  going  to  find 
work ;  he  would  find  it  of  course ;  of  what  kind  he 
did  not  care,  and  how  he  could  not  imagine  before 
hand.  He  would  find  out,  in  time.  So  he  did  the 
very  thing  which  the  highest  wisdom  of  the  sages 
would  have  counselled ;  he  contented  himself  with 
taking  one  step  at  a  time. 

Oh  how  many  steps  there  were  !     The  sun  rose 
higher,  and  the  mist  thinned  and  seemed  to  draw 


02  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

further  off,  and  yellow  faint  sunlight  began  to 
warm  up  the  road  and  cast  light  shadows  behind 
the  fences.  Now  and  then  a  house  appeared;  not 
often;  and  the  road  was  level;  a  good  thing  for 
Stephen.  The  mist  retreated  further  and  further; 
the  sun  broke  out  warm  and  soft  on  all  the  fields, 
and  dried  the  grass  in  the  road.  And  at  last,  but 
not  till  midday  was  hot  and  clear  and  shining 
without  mist  or  cloud  upon  all  the  country,  Ste 
phen  saw  the  houses  of  Deepford  beginning  to 
appear. 

Deepford  was  more  of  a  place  of  business  than 
Whitebrook,  owing  partly  to  the  fact  of  its  being 
a  rail  way  station.  That  brought  life  into  the  village 
doings,  or  so  the  villagers  thought.  Whether  they 
did  not  lose  in  another  direction  as  much  as  they 
gained  in  this  might  be  open  to  question ;  but  the 
doubt  occurred  to  nobody.  There  was  a  stream 
also,  of  some  volume,  which  ran  past  the  place,  and 
was  made  use  of  to  turn  one  or  two  mill  wheels; 
which  had  of  course  their  corresponding  factories, 
with  a  large  number  of  hands  that  worked  in  them. 
Altogether,  Deepford  was,  as  the  people  said,  "quite 
a  place ; "  and  a  very  different  place  from  White- 
brook.  Of  all  this  Stephen  knew  and  understood 
little,  yet  perceived  at  least  some  difference  as  he 
entered  the  village.  It  was  closer  built  than  White- 
brook  ;  there  was  less  of  the  shady  repose  of  over 
arching  green  treetops,  and  of  careless  spaces  of 
green  grass  between  the  wheeltracks  in  the  street. 
There  was  not  quite  so  universal  neat  beauty  and 


INTO  THE  WORLD.  63 

comfort  in  the  look  of  the  dwellinghouses;  the 
people  were  less  homogeneous;  one  could  imagine 
more  of  the  bustle  and  wrangle  of  life  going  on  here ; 
in  fact  at  Whitebrook  one  could  not  imagine  it 
going  on  at  all.  Stephen  knew  nothing  of  the 
.bustle  and  wrangle  of  life;  his  young  eyes  simply 
saw  that  this  was  a  more  stirring  place  than  his 
old  home,  and  that  the  people  here  must  be  a  dif 
ferent  sort.  All  the  better  for  him,  he  would  have 
said ;  but  he  hardly  thought  about  it.  He  wanted 
to  find  work,  and  he  expected  to  find  it  somehow. 
Here  now  he  was  in  Deepford.  Where  should 
he  go?  He  knew  nobody.  The  only  possible  house 
that  he  had  a  right  to  go  to  was  the  inn ;  and  there 
also  he  might  hope  as  well  as  anywhere  to  find 
what  he  sought.  Employment,  that  is ;  not  dinner ; 
though  Stephen's  stomach  did  remind  him.  that  it 
was  dinner  time,  and  so  did  many  a  savoury  scent 
of  frying  ham,  or  onions,  or  beef,  that  floated  to 
him  from  out  the  houses  he  passed.  With  dinner  he 
knew  he  had  no  business,  inasmuch  as  he  had  never 
a  cent  in  his  pocket  to  buy  even  a  cent's  worth  of 
one.  He  went  on,  looking  sharp  for  the  inn. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DEEPFOED  INN. 

DEEPFORD  had  an  inn  as  the  place  was  a  rail 
way  station;  and  there  was  no  mistaking  it, 
though  Stephen  had  never  seen  an  inn  before.  He 
had  heard  people  talk  of  it,  and  he  knew  it  for  what 
it  was  as  soon  as  he  saw  it.  Timidly  now  the  little 
boy  stayed  his  steps  in  front  of  it.  He  did  not 
feel  that  he  had  any  right  anywhere.  Another 
boy  lounging  by,  I  suppose  recognized  him  for  a 
stranger. 

"Hullo,  Counsellor!"  he  cried;  "  what'  ye  after  ? 
This  here  aint  the  Court  house." 

"  Is  this  the  inn  ?  "  Stephen  inquired. 

"  Hullo  !  Has  your  mother  sent  you  to  look  arter 
your  father,  young  shaver  ?  No  you  don't  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Stephen. 

"Well,  you  do  look  jolly  green,  my  pigeon. 
What  be  you  arter?  And  where  do  you  hang 


"Is  this  the  inn?"  Stephen  repeated  his  question. 
"Made  a  'pintment  to  meet  somebody?     What 
be  you  arter,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

(64) 


DEEPFORD  INN.  65 

"I  just  want  to  find  Deepford  inn." 

"  Then  there  aint  no  sich  a  place.  I'm  blessed 
ef  there  is.  You  may  jest  turn  round  agin." 

Stephen  however  knew  better.  He  had  heard 
men  speak  of  the  inn  at  Deepford  too  often,  and  it 
had  interested  him,  because  there  was  nothing  that 
called  itself  by  that  name  at  Whitebrook.  He 
stepped  out  into  the  road  a  little,  so  that  he  could 
look  at  the  house  better;  and  saw  a  great  sign 
board  with  "Deepford  Hotel"  upon  it  in  fat  letters. 
He  read  the  words  aloud. 

"  That  aint  nothin',"  said  the  other  boy.  "  Deep- 
ford  Hottle  aint  what  you  want.  That's  'tother 
end  o'  the  place,  the  hottle  for  boys  is.  This  is 
the  hottle  where  men  gits  sold." 

But  Stephen  was  sure  now.  The  boy's  testi 
mony  might  be  taken  by  the  rule  of  contraries; 
and  without  paying  any  more  attention  to  him, 
Stephen  went  up  the  steps  of  the  piazza  and  in  at 
the  door.  He  was  in  a  narrow  entry  way  then, 
with  an  open  door  at  his  left  through  which  he 
could  see  into  a  sort  of  common  room  where  sev 
eral  men  were  sitting,  eating  and  drinking.  They 
were  farmer-like  people  in  appearance,  just  what 
Stephen  had  been  wanting  to  find ;  but  now  he  did 
not  know  how  to  speak  to  them,  nor  what  to  do 
next.  He  stood  at  the  open  door  looking  in,  linger 
ing,  wishing,  afraid  to  put  himself  forward,  afraid 
he  would  be  unnoticed  unless  he  did.  He  could 
not  make  any  further  advance  than  the  presenting 
himself  there  at  the  door  implied;  he  was  too  mod- 


66  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

est,  or  too  shy.  He  stood  leaning  against  one  of 
the  door  posts,  waiting;  a  pale  little  boy  just  at  this 
present,  for  he  had  walked  far  and  he  was  tired  and 
nungry.  How  good  was  the  savour  of  cooked  ham 
which  came  to  his  nostrils,  and  whiffs  of  the  scent 
of  boiling  coffee !  It  made  Stephen  very  uncom 
fortable  ;  but  he  only  shifted  his  weight  from  one 
leg  to  the  other,  and  stood  there,  looking  in  and 
waiting. 

One  of  the  men  dining  at  a  table  near  the  door 
glanced  that  way  once  or  twice,  and  finally  spoke 
to  him. 

"What1  you  there  for,  boy?" 

"  Yes,  move  off,"  said  a  girl  who  was  acting  as 
waiter.  "  We  don't  want  none  o'  your  sort  about. 
Allers  gaping ! " 

"  Do  you  want  anything,  boy  ?  "  the  man  asked, 
noticing  Stephen's  look. 

"Yes  sir,  I  do." 

"  Here  girl, — this  chap  wants  some  dinner.  I 
don't  b'lieve  he  can  pay  for  it." 

"We  don't  give  no  dinners  here  to  folks  that 
can't  pay,"  returned  the  girl. 

"  I  don't  want  dinner,"  said  Stephen,  goaded  to 
so  much  justification  of  himself.  Poor  fellow,  how 
he  did  want  it  though  !  And  any  possible  source 
from  which  the  supply  might  come  was  not  even 
within  a  distant  range  of  vision. 

"Then  be  off,"  said  the  girl  roughly;  "if  you 
don't  want  nothin'.  You  can't  stand  there." 

"  I  do  want  something,  please." 


DEEPFORD   INN.  67 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  work,"  said  the  little  boy  boldly. 

"  Work !  Likely !  Take  yourself  off,  or  I'll  call 
somebody  to  make  you." 

"  Be  yon  little  chap  askin'  for  work  ?  "  now  said 
the  man  who  had  before  spoken.  He  asked  the 
question '  with  a  broad  grin ;  and  when  Stephen 
gave  a  modest  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  laughed  out,  with  a 
coarse  guffaw. 

"  You,  you  cricket,"  said  he.  "  What  do  you  s'pose 
you  can  do,  on  the  face  o'  the  'arth  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  want  to  do  something,  if 
I  could  find  something  to  do." — Stephen's  cheeks 
flushed,  partly  with  shame  and  partly  because  his 
stomach  was  so  empty  and  the  viands  smelled  so 
good;  but  his  speech  was  steady.  Nevertheless  it 
provoked  general  merry-making. 

"  You  couldn't  earn  your  salt  1 "  said  one.  That, 
Stephen  remembered,  had  been  Mr.  Harrison's 
opinion. 

"  Could  get  a  job  maybe  in  haying  and  harvest 
ing,"  suggested  another.  "Understand  cradling?" 

"  Guess  you  want  to  steer  for  the  factory,"  said  a 
third. 

"  Do  they  have  creeturs  as  small  as  that  ?  "  in 
quired  a  fourth. 

"  Have  anything !  that  kin  stand  on  its  legs,"  re 
sponded  one  of  the  men.  "  Don't  never  ask  how 
big  it  is,  nor  how  old.  Ef  it  kin  stand,  you  see, 
that  is." 

"  There's  law  agin  that,"  remarked  one. 


68  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"There's  more'n  law  on  the  other  side." 

"Where  ha'  you  come  from,  boy?  You  don't 
b'long  in  this  place?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  go  back  where  you  come  from ;  that's  my 
advice  t'ye.  Work,  you  whipper-snapper?  you  aint 
up  to  nothin'  yet  but  eatin'.  I'll  warrant,  you  kin 
do  your  sheer  o'  that." 

If  anybody  would  only  have  asked  Stephen  to 
try!— 

"  It'll  be  a  spell  yet,  afore  he  kin  pay  for  what  he 
eats,"  said  a  man.  "  Why,  you  pickaninny,  what 
do  you  s'pose  you're  up  to,  besides  mischief?  Let 
you  alone  for  that !  Ef  there's  anythin'  ekal  to  a 
boy  o'  that  there  size  for  upsettin'  things  gen'ally, 
I  don't  know  it.  Any  man  that'd  hire  you,  would 
be  a  fool." 

No  doubt  the  speaker  had  some  pressing  home 
experience;  but  Stephen  never  thought  of  that,  and 
felt  aggrieved.  But  he  said  nothing,  only  an  hon 
est  flush  mounted  to  his  childish  face.  What  hope 
for  him  there  ?  Yet,  as  if  he  had  his  character  to 
maintain,  he  stood  his  ground,  and  still  waited. 
The  men  began  soon  to  get  through  with  their 
meal,  and  one  after  another  to  leave  the  room; 
some  of  them  quite  disregarding  the  little  appli 
cant  for  work,  as  he  stood  there  in  the  doorway, 
others  throwing  at  him  a  few  more  words  of  jeer 
ing  as  they  passed,  or  a  "Get  out  o'  the  way,  boy!' 
Stephen  found  it  very  discouraging  and  rather  hard 
to  bear.  Another  word  of  dismissal  from  the  serv 


DEEPFORD  INN.  69 

ing  maid,  and  he  felt  he  would  have  to  go,  and  give 
up  that  hope  in  Deepford.  One,  two,  three,  four,  of 
the  men  left  the  house.  Only  two  sat  there  yet; 
and  Stephen  was  lingering  quite  against  hope, 
though  persistent  in  waiting,  when  one  of  them 
looked  towards  him  and  beckoned  with  his  finger. 
Stephen  slowly  obeyed  the  signal,  though  not  with 
much  hope.  This  man  had  also  finished  his  dinner, 
he  saw.  It  was  a  better  looking  man  than  some 
of  the  others;  several  shades  more  respectable  in 
dress ;  and  with  a  face  which  though  rough-featured 
enough  was  not  unkindly.  He  surveyed  Stephen 
attentively. 

"  What  ever  set  such  a  little  shaver  as  you  on  a 
tramp  ?  "  he  asked. 

Stephen  understood  one  word.  "  I  aint  a  tramp, 
sir,"  he  responded. 

"  No  ?     What  be  you  then,  eh  ?  " 

"I'm  not  anything,  sir." 

"  No !  I'll  be  sworn  you  aint,"  said  the  man  with 
a  gleam  in  his  eyes.  "That's  true  enough.  Well, 
my  man,  how  come  you  to  be  roamin'  the  country 
like  this  ?  You  say  you  don't  belong  here  ?  " 

"No  sir,  I  don't.     I  come  from  Whitebrook." 

"  Whitebrook  ?  ay.  I  know  there  is  such  a  place. 
What  made  you  come  from  Whitebrook  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  get  work  there,  sir;  and  I  thought  I 
would  try  Deepford." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  work  for,  eh  ?  you're  too 
little  yet." 

"I  want  to  earn  somethin',  if  I  could,  sir." 


70  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"How  do  you  s'pose  you  could  earn  anything? 
Why  you  couldn't  drive  a  nail  into  a  board." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  would  do  anything  I  could 
do." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder !  But  what's  the  matter,  eh? 
Ha'  you  got  nobody  to  take  care  of  you  ?  " 

"No,  sir," 

"How's  that?" 

Stephen  choked  a  little;  manned  himself.  "They're 
all  gone,  sir.** 

"  Who  ?     Who's  that  that's  gone,  eh  ?  " 

Stephen  managed  to  answer  steadily  again, 
though  not  without  a  pause, — "My  father  and 
mother."  His  questioner  saw  the  reddening  eye 
and  the  relaxed  curve  of  the  lip,  and  got  a 
respect  on  the  spot  for  his  little  new  acquaint 
ance. 

"  But  if  father  and  mother  are  gone,  there  ought 
to  be  others,"  he  remarked.  "  What  was  all  White- 
brook  about,  that  they  let  you  go  off  like  that,  to 
look  for  work  among  strangers  ?  " 

This  was  beyond  Stephen.  He  simply  answered 
that  he  did  not  know. 

"  When  did  you  come  away  ?  " 

"This  morning,  sir." 

"  Just  got  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  ever  find  something  at 
home  small  enough  for  you  to  do?  What  have 
you  ben  doin',  all  your  life  till  now  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  do  things  for  mother,  sir." 


DEEPFORD  INN.  71 

"Ah,  did  you  though?    What  things,  for  instance?" 

"  I  used  to  cut  wood  for  her,  when  it  wasn't  too 
big;  and  I  used  to  sweep  the  house,  and  make  the 
fire,  and  wash  the  floor;  and  I  used  to  wash  the 
dishes  for  her  sometimes,  and  fetch  water,  and  go 
to  the  store — " 

Stephen's  utterance  was  growing  a  little  thick. 
More  and  more  kindly  the  man's  face  looked  down 
upon  him. 

"  And  have  you  nobody  at  all  to  care  for  you  ? 
no  grandmother  or  grandfather,  or  uncle  or  aunt, 
or  anybody  ?  " 

"No,  nobody,  sir." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  fighting  the  world  on 
your  own  hook  ?  " 

"Sir?" 

"  How  long  since  you  were  left  all  alone  so  ?  " 

"It's  'most  a  month,  sir." 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ?  " 

"I  was  in  Mrs.  Estey's  house;  she  took  care 
of  me." 

"  And  wouldn't  she  take  care  of  you  any  longer?" 

"  She  would,  I  guess ;  but  the  farmer  didn't  want 
me  to  stay.  I  know,  for  I  heard  him." 

"Shouldn't  wonder.  And  now,  what's  your 
name?" 

"  Stephen  Joyce  Kay." 

"  That's  a  good  name.     And  now,  Stephen,  what 
do  you  think  you  could  do  ?  " 
'I  can't  tell,  sir,  tilll 'try." 

"  No  more  you  can't ;  that's  a  good  answer.     Do 


72  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

you  think  you  would  go  along  with  me,  if  I  asked 
you?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  would."  And  the  honest  glance  of 
Stephen's  grey  eyes  completed  the  conquest  of  the 
man's  heart. 

"  Well,  you  shall,  then.  I  have  a  good  many 
people  working  for  me,  and  I  guess  I  can  find 
something  to  do  for  one  more.  Now,  Stephen,  I'm 
not  going  out  of  town  just  yet;  I  have  some  busi 
ness  to  see  to.  What'll  you  do,  till  I'm  ready  to 
start  ? " 

"I'll  wait." 

"You'll  have  to.  Wait  here.  Stop,  they  don't 
want  you  here ;  come  out  to  my  wagon.  You  can 
get  in  and  go  to  sleep  if  you  want  to ;  there's  straw 
in  the  bottom ;  you'll  be  as  snug  as  a  button.  Have 
you  had  dinner,  by  the  way  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"And  you've  come  a  long  journey,  for  you. 
Well,  I've  had  mine,  and  I  can't  stop.  See  here 
— here's  a  couple  of  pennies;  go  into  the  bar  there 
and  get  yourself  a  hunk  of  gingerbread; — I  saw 
some  famous-looking  gingerbread  there;  —  and 
that'll  stay  your  stomach  till  we  get  home." 

The  kind  man  shewed  him  where  his  wagon 
stood,  arid  went  off;  and  Stephen  retraced  his 
steps  to  the  bar-room,  feeling  himself  quite  an 
other  boy.  He  bought  the  gingerbread;  would 
have  liked  to  ask  a  question  or  two  about  his 
benefactor;  but  he  was  shy  of  the  rough  bar 
tender,  and  concluded  to  wait  for  the  knowledge 


DEEPFORD  INN.  73 

that  would  be  sure  to  come  in  course  of  time.  He 
went  back  to  the  wagon,  climbed  into  it,  and  sat 
down  in  the  straw  to  eat  his  lunch.  It  was  a  de 
lightful  feeling,  that  he  had  a  right  to  be  there, 
and  indeed  that  there  was  any  place  in  the  world 
where  he  had  a  right  to  be.  Stephen  had  felt 
himself  rather  a  supernumerary  among  the  earth's 
inhabitants,  with  no  hold  on  anybody  or  anything ; 
now  that  was  changed.  He  was  as  good  as  a  hired 
man,  and  at  home  in  his  employer's  wagon.  His 
tired  legs  were  resting,  and  his  hunger  made  the 
gingerbread,  always  a  favorite  viand,  now  seem 
most  satisfying  and  delicious.  Stephen  eat  it 
slowly,  making  the  most  of  every  crumb;  the 
while  watching  all  he  could  see  of  the  life  and  stir 
of  Deepford.  There  were  other  wagons  hitched  to 
posts  in  front  of  the  -tavern ;  and  men  were  driving 
off,  and  others  arriving;  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
passing  to  and  fro  of  people  on  foot;  it  was  not  at 
all  like  Whitebrook  order  and  quiet. 

"What  business  have  you  there,  boy?"  one  of 
the  tavern  customers,  coming  out,  suddenly  called 
to  him. 

"  I  don't  know  the  gentleman's  name,  sir," — , 
Stephen  began  in  some  embarrassment — 

"  I  say,  what  business  have  you  to  be  there,  in 
anybody's  wagon  ?  " 

"He  told  me  to  get  in,"  said  Stephen.  "He's 
goin'  to  take  me  home  with  him." 

"That's  a  likely  story.  Who  is  it,  is  going  to 
take  you  home  ?  " 


74  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  I  don't  know  his  name,  sir.  He  didn't  tell  me 
his  name;  but  this  is  his  wagon." 

"  You're  sharper  than  you  look,  you  young 
scamp.  Tumble  out  o'  that,  or  I'll  give  you  some 
thing  to  make  you.  And  keep  where  you  belong, 
do  you  hear  ?  " 

The  speaker  had  a  fearful-looking  long  whip  in 
his  hand,  and  Stephen  dared  not  disobey.  He 
clambered  down  out  of  the  wagon,  and  stood  be 
side  it,  till  his  questioner  had  driven  off  and  was 
well  out  of  sight.  But  then  he  ventured  in  again, 
and  sat  down  in  his  nest  in  the  straw,  feeling  im 
mensely  comfortable.  For  awhile  he  was  amused 
with  the  varying  stir  in  the  street.  By  degrees 
he  ceased  to  speculate  on  the  looks  or  business  of 
the  passers-by ;  then  their  figures  went  before  him 
as  images  in  a  'dream ;  and  then  Stephen  quite  suc 
cumbed  to  the  united  influences  of  rest  and  fatigue, 
anxiety  past  and  contentment  in  hand;  he  toppled 
down  into  the  straw  and  went  fast  asleep.  And 
there  he  was  still  when  the  owner  of  the  wagon 
came  back  to  it;  and  he  was  only  awaked  by  the 
noise  and  jar  made  by  the  laying  of  some  dark 
looking  boards  in  the  box  of  the  wagon.  Stephen 
started  up. 

"  Hullo !  there  you  are,"  cried  his  friend  with  a 
pleased  accent;  "I  didn't  know  but  you'd  sloped. 
Didn't  see  a  sign  of  you  when  I  came  up,  and 
thinks  I,  he's  off,  and  I've  been  cheated  once 
more  in  my  life.  But  you're  there ;  and  all  right, 
eh?" 


DEEPFORD  INN.  75 

"Yes,  sir,  thank  you,"  said  the  little  boy;  "and 
I  never  cheated  anybody,  sir." 

"I  don't  believe  you  did,  I  don't  believe  you 
did,"  said  the  man.,  "Now  we'll  go  home.  Did 
you  get  your  gingerbread,  eh  ?  " 

"  O  yes,  sir." 

"  Ah,  I  see.  And  it  was  good,  wasn't  it !  Now 
we'll  get  home,  and  have  something  better  than 
gingerbread.  Don't  you  think  there  is  anything 
better  than  gingerbread  ?  Well,  we'll  see.  Have 
you  got  room  there,  beside  that  lumber?  or  will 
you  come  here  ?  there's  room  here  by  me.  But  my 
boy,  where's  your  luggage  ?  " 

"What,  sir?" 

"  Where  are  your  clothes  ?  Haven't  you  got 
any  ?  Have  you  got  nothing  here  but  what  you 
stand  in — or  sit  in  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.     I  didn't  think." 

"  Where  are  your  things  ?  " 

"They're  back  in  Whitebrook — at  Mrs.  Estey's. 
But  there  aint  many  of  'em,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  not — I  suppose  not.  Well,  it's  too 
far  to  go  to  Whitebrook  to-night.  W  e'll  see  about 
finding  a  chance  to  send  for  'em.  You're  not  old 
enough  to  be  very  long-headed  yet,  are  you?  I 
guess  we'll  manage.  Are  you  all  right  ? — " 

Stephen  had  climbed  over  into  the  seat  by  his 
benefactor,  where  he  could  see  the  horses,  and 
they  drove  oif ;  and  to  Stephen's  satisfaction  left 


76  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

Deepford  quite  behind  them.  It  is* difficult  to  tell 
the  delights  of  that  drive  to  the  little  waif,  who 
suddenly  found  himself  a  waif  no  longer,  but  a 
hired  boy,  and  a  boy  with  a  right  home  and  place 
in  the  world.  What  the  place  was,  or  what  sort 
of  a  home,  as  yet  he  did  not  know;  and  his  ten 
years  old  head  did  not  take  up  any  anxiety  on 
that  score.  For  the  present  he  had  got  what  he 
wanted,  he  had  accomplished  what  he  sought  to 
do;  he  was  a  satisfied  and  thankful  person;  for 
Stephen  never  doubted  that  his  prayers  and  his 
mother's  prayers  had  been  heard,  and  that  his 
benefactor  was  but  doing  a  higher  will  and  be 
hest.  Which  did  not  hinder  his  being  thankful 
to  him  too. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
JONTO'S  KITCHEN. 

IT  was  a  never-to-be  forgotten  drive.  The  way 
led  out  of  the  town  along  the  course  of  the 
little  river,  which  flowed  with  a  good  deal  of  cur 
rent,  making  ripples  here  and  there  where  some 
roughness  of  its  bed  interfered  with  the  rapid  pass 
age  of  its  waters.  The  stream  went  winding,  but 
the  road  followed  it;  lost  it,  and  caught  up  with  it 
again;  always  caught  up  with  it;  and  Stephen 
watched  to  see  its  gleam  through  the  alders  and 
willows  which  fringed  and  overhung  it,  whenever 
for  a  little  the  road  had  left  its  pretty,  playful  neigh 
bour.  It  fascinated  him,  dividing  his  attention  only 
with  the  horses.  The  horses  were  a  great  delight ; 
large,  strong,  brown  roadsters,  well  looked  after 
and  well  fed,  and  so  bringing  a  cheery  good  will 
to  their  work.  The  day  was  declining  towards 
evening;  indeed,  generally  speaking,  it  was  even 
ing  already;  cool,  moist,  fresh,  but  not?  harsh,  as 
spring  evenings  in  that  region  often  are.  Trees 
were  not  in  leaf  yet,  but  their  bare  branches  were 
not  dreary,  and  the  grass  was  quite  green.  The 


78  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

country  was  less  absolutely  level  than  Stephen  was 
accustomed  to  see  it;  there  were  low  heights  and 
rocky  ridges  to  be  seen ;  and  as  the  brown  horses 
went  on  and  on,  the  rocks  and  the  ridgy  hillocks 
were  more  and  more  plentiful,  until  level  fields  be- 
c,ame  the  exception.  Still  the  road  kept  near  the 
river,  which  sometimes,  when  the  horses  walked  a 
bit,  could  be  heard  gurgling  and  rippling  with  the 
stones  in  its  way.  The  evening  fell  dusk  and  the 
air  grew  cooler. 

"Are  you  warm,  Stephen?"  his  friend  asked,  see 
ing  the  boy's  shoulders  moved  by  something  that 
looked  very  like  a  shiver. 

"  I  don't  think  I  am,"  Stephen  responded  care 
lessly.  "  I  wasn't  thinking  about  it." 

"  What  were  you  thinking  about,  eh  ?  I  always 
think  of  that,  when  I  am  cold.  What  were  you 
thinking  about,  Stephen?" 

"The  river, — and  the  horses.  I  was  thinking 
one  is  going  as  fast  as  'the  other,  only  they  are  go 
ing  different  ways." 

"Ah,  yes,  the  river  does  go  pretty  fast;  that's 
what  makes  it  so  good  for  me ;  and  the  beauty  of 
it  is,  it  never  gets  tired;  always  keeps  on  just  so." 

"The  horses  don't  look  tired,"  remarked  Stephen. 

"  Well  no ;  but  if  they  kept  on  night  and  day  they 
would,  you  know." 

"  Aren't  they  very  strong  horses  ?  " 

"  Well  yes,  they  are ;  but  how  did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"I  thought  they  looked  strong.  Has  the  river 
got  a  name  ?  " 


JONTO'S  KITCHEN.  79 

"0  certainly;  two  names.  Some  folks  call  it 
Deepford  river,  but  we  call  it  Cowslip." 

<; Cowslip  river?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  a  pretty  name.  We  had  no  river  at 
Whitebrook." 

"  You  had  a  brook,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No  sir,  we  didn't.  There  was  a  brook  once,  but 
it's  been  turned  off." 

"Ah?  Well  we're  better  off,  for  we've  got  a 
brook  at  Cowslip,  as  well  as  a  river.  You'll  like 
the  brook." 

"  0  I  like  the  river  too,  very  much,"  said  Stephen. 
"  I  think  it's  beautiful." 

The  drive  lasted  so  long  that  it  was  quite  dusk 
when  they  arrived.  Stephen  could  see  several  build 
ings;  at  least  the  masses  of  their  roofs  stood  out 
against  the  grey  sky,  and  long  and  large  they 
seemed  to  be;  but  much  more  just  then  he  could 
not  make  out.  The  wagon  had  turned  into  a  sort 
of  farmyard,  which  had  barn  and  stables  on  one 
side;  and  here  the  driver  dismounted  and  helped 
Stephen  down.  It  was  not  dark,  only  too  dusky 
to  see  to  a  distance. 

"  Here  we  are,  Stephen,"  said  his  friend. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  little  boy. 

"Now,  to  begin  with. — Do  you  know  how  to 
take  a  horse  out  of  harness  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  There  is  no  time  like  the  present.  See  here — 
1  will  shew  you." — 


80  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

So  he  made  Stephen  observe  how  he  slipped  this 
buckle  and  undid  that  fastening,  and  the  whole 
course  of  the  operation,  until  the  horses  had  their 
halters  on  and  nothing  else,  and  were  led  into  their 
stable. 

"Now,  do  you  think  you  would  know  next  time  ?  " 
asked  the  man  as  he  and  Stephen  came  out  and  he 
ehut  the  stable  door. 

"  I  think  I  would,  sir." 

"  Could  you  harness  a  horse,  do  you  think,  if  I 
shewed  you  how  ?  " 

"  I  don*  know  as  I  could  reach  up  to  his  head." 

"  Ah !  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  careful  about 
making  statements.  That's  right.  You'll  grow. 
Now  come  along." 

They  crossed  the  yard  to  a  corner  door  over  which 
a  sort  of  penthouse  roof  extended  a  little  shelter. 
The  man  opened  the  door  and  went  in,  expecting 
Stephen  to  follow;  but  he  had  not  said  so,  and  the 
little  boy's  foot  paused  timidly.  There  was  a  min 
ute  or  two  during  which  he  took  in  a  picture  never 
afterwards  in  all  his  life  to  be  forgotten. 

The  door  was  left  partly  open.  Stephen,  standing 
on  the  doorstep,  looked  into  a  bright  room  which 
was  filled  with  the  shine  of  a  blazing  fire.  It  was  a 
kitchen,  he  saw  by  the  gleaming  of  tin  pans  and 
the  rows  of  dishes  on  a  dresser;  and  from  out  the 
open  door,  came  a  most  savoury  smell  of  supper. 
Floor  and  dishes  and  tins  and  everything  looked  as 
neat  as  wax;  put  up,  and  orderly,  and  comfortable. 
On  one  end  of  the  hearth,  watching  probably  over 


JONTO'S  KITCHEN.  81 

her  cookery,  stood  the  portly  figure  of  a  coloured 
woman.  She  fitted  in  well  with  the  rest  of  the 
picture.  A  large  woman,  very  black,  as  nice  and 
neat  as  her  room ;  and  as  bright,  for  a  many-col 
oured  bright  handkerchief  was  on  her  head,  wound 
up  into  a  most  wonderful  turban,  and  her  face  shone 
as  if  it  had  been  varnished,  reflecting  all  the  light 
that  was  flickering  around. 

"Well  Jon  to,  supper's  ready,  eh?"  said  the  mas 
ter  of  the  house.  "  I've  brought  somebody  home 
with  me  that  I  want  you  to  take  care  of." 

"More  folks?"  said  the  woman.  "I  fought  ye 
had  folks  enough  to  look  arter  a'ready,  Mr.  Har'n- 
brook;  more  'n  you  kin  manage.  There's  some  on 
'em  aint  arnin'  deir  wages,  I'll  be  boun'.  What's 
dis'n,  Mr.  Har'nbrook  ?  " 

"  Somebody  for  you  to  look  after,  Jonto.  I  want 
you  to  help  me  take  care  of  him,  too.  I  suppose 
he'll  want  both.  I  couldn't  help  bringing  him  home, 
and  if  he  behaves  himself,  he'll  stay.  You  can  make 
up  a  bed  for  him  in  the  little  room  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs — there's  nothing  in  it  now;  make  a  nice, 
comfortable  bed  for  him,  and  give  him  a  good  sup 
per,  for  the  child  has  had  nothing  all  day  but  a 
piece  of  gingerbread."  The  woman  gave  a  strange 
kind  of  grunt  at  this,  which  conveyed  no  informa 
tion  whatever  to  Stephen's  mind. 

"  There's  no  bedstead  there,  I  believe." 

"Nor  nuffin'  else.  What  you  t'inkin'  ob,  Mr. 
Har'nbrook  ?  " 

"  You  can  make  up  a  bed  on  the  floor." 


82  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

« 'Spect  I  kin." 

"Nice  and  comfortable,  eh?  I  know  you  will. 
You  can  take  the  blue  counterpane  and  blankets 
that  were  on  Tim's  bed.  Now  I  must  go  and  tell 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  what  I  have  brought  home. — 
Where  is  he  ?  Here,  Stephen ! " 

Stephen,  not  liking  to  be  spying,  after  that  one 
minute's  view  of  Jonto  and  her  kitchen  had  been 
looking  away  somewhat  vaguely  to  the  stars,  which 
were  shimmering  out  faintly  in  the  darkling  sky; 
feeling  that  there  was  sure  help  and  protection  for 
him,  and  sending  a  wordless  prayer  for  it.  At  the 
call  he  turned  from  the  dusky  sky  to  the  bright 
fire-lit  room  and  crossed  the  threshold,  just  as  his 
benefactor  left  the  kitchen  by  another  door.  He 
stood  face  to  face  with  Jonto.  The  black  woman 
surveyed  him,  and  Stephen  looked  up  to  her. 

"Yous  he,  hey?"  she  began.  "Whar'd  Mr. 
Har'nbrook  pick  you  up,  like  to  know?  What  d' 
ye  call  yerself  ?  Aint  big  enough  to  hev  no  name." 

"  0  yes,  I  have  a  name,"  said  the  little  boy.  "  I 
am  Stephen  Joyce  Kay." 

"Dafs  free  names,  aint  it?  What  for  you  go 
and  hab  free  names  fur?  I  has  to  do  wid  one, 
and  'nuff  too.  Whar  you  come  from,  hey?" 

"From  Whitebrook,  ma'am." 

"Never  heerd  tell  o'  no  Whitebrook  in  dese 
parts.  What  made  you  come  away  from  whar 
you  belong?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  belonged  there,"  said  Stephen. 
"  Not  now.  There  was  nobody  left." 


JONTO'S  KITCHEN.  83 

"  Come  along  here,  and  sit  down  by  de  fire,  till 
I  git  you  some  supper.  Warn't  no  one  left,  hey  ? 
What  do  de  chile  mean  by  dat  ?  Warn't  all  burned 
out,  was  dey  ?  Why  warn't  dey  left  ?  " 

u  Cos  God  took  'em — "  said  Stephen.  And  with 
that  he  gave  a  great  gulp,  for  it  all  rushed  over  him 
again.  But  it  was  not  his  way  to  cry  before  folks 
if  he  could  help  it;  tears  might  have  their  time, 
when  he  was  alone;  not  when  others  were  looking 
on.  Jonto  was  looking,  and  she  saw  the  tremu 
lous  quiver  of  the  under  lip;  and  the  colour 
flushing  and  paling,  and  the  determined  effort 
the  boy  made  to  keep  down  and  keep  back  what 
he  felt. 

"  Wall,  wall !  "  said  she  more  softly,  "  chare  up, 
honey;  I'se  be  a  modder  to  ye.  So  you  haint  none, 
hey,  no  mo'  ?  nor  fader  noder  ?  Is  dey  all  gone  ? 
Den  I'se  be  a  modder  to  ye.  An'  you'se  come  to  de 
fust-ratest  place — kin  tell  ye  dat.  Mr.  Har'nbrook, 
he's  right  good  to  lib  wi' ;  he  aint  a  soft  shiftless  man 
neider ;  he  likes  folks  to  step  out  smart  and  do  what 
he  tells  'em ;  la !  wouldn't  keer  to  stop  wid  him, 
ef  he  was  one  o'  dem  folks  what  have  no  bones  in 
'em ;  but  he's  got  a  heart  in  him,  and  it  aint  a  lit 
tle  bit  o'  one." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Stephen,  who  during  this 
ong  speech  had  got  his  voice  again.  "  He  gave 
me  two  cents  this  noon  to  get  me  some  ginger 
bread. 

"Did,  hey?  Clar,  dat  warn't  no  sich  won'erful 
doin's.  Jonto'll  give  ye  som'fin  better — you  see  ef 


84  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

she  don't.  Dar  now !  try  dat  Pull  up  your  cheer 
and  set  down  to  it." 

She  had  been  dishing  up  for  Stephen  a  great 
plateful  out  of  something  she  had  cooking  in  an 
old-ftishioned  bake  oven  at  one  side  of  the  fireplace. 
It  was  very  strange  to  Stephen's  eyes.  She  lifted 
with  the  tongs  a  huge  iron  lid,  with  a  raised  bor 
der,  which  was  full  of  coals  and  ashes;  and  from 
a  dish  within  the  lower  receptacle  she  filled  the 
plate.  The  savoury  smell  diffused  all  through  the 
room  by  this  proceeding  was  appetizing  in  the  ex 
treme;  but  Stephen's  appetite  needed  no  provoca 
tive.  He  drew  up  his  chair  as  she  bade  him ;  Jonto 
cut  him  a  great  slice  of  bread,  and  then  left  him 
to  appease  his  hunger  while  she  dished  up  and 
took  in  the  supper  for  the  family. 

In  the  sitting-room  to  which  she  carried  it  the 
whole  little  family  was  waiting;  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
and  his  wife,  and  their  one  little  daughter.  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  was  a  small  woman,  who  had  been 
pretty,  after  a  sort,  who  was  thought  still  to  be 
pretty  by  some  people,  herself  and  her  husband 
included.  Some  delicacy  of  feature  she  had,  some 
delicacy  of  tint,  arid  made  the  most  of  both;  but 
all  the  prettiness  there  was,  or  might  have  been, 
was  spoiled  by  a  perpetual  air  of  fretfulness.  I 
suppose  she  had  not  got  from  the  world  all  the 
recognition  she  wanted.  There  was  a  certain  sharp 
ness  to  her  nose,  to  her  smile,  and  to  her  tone  of 
voice  when  she  spoke.  A  contrast  to  her  husband; 
for  everything  about  Mr.  Hardenbrook  was  round, 


JONTO'S  KITCHEN.  85 

sound,  and  healthy.  But  oil  itself  dreads  the  bite 
of  vinegar. 

"What  have  you  got  for  us  to-night,  Jonto?" 
asked  this  lady,  in  acid  sweet  tones. 

"  Somefin  good  'nuff  for  de  gobernor,"  said  the 
woman  confidently,  setting  the  smoking  dish  on 
the  table. 

"  Pigeons !  "  cried  the  little  girl  springing  out  of 
her  father's  arms, — "  it  is  stewed  pigeons,  isn't  it, 
Jonto?" 

"  What  don't  dat  chile  know ! "  exclaimed  the 
black  woman  admiringly.  "  Yes  honey,  dey's  pig 
eons;  and  nice  arid  fat;  dey's  as  tender  as  ef  dey 
was  made  to  eat." 

"  Why  so  they  are,  Jonto,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Harden  brook. 

"Dun  know  'bout  dat,  Mr.  Har'nbrook.  Ef  you 
ax  somebody  else,  mebbe  he'll  say  dey  is;  and  ef 
you  ax  de  pigeons,  mebbe  dey  wouldn't  be  so  sure. 
I'se  glad  o'  one  of  'em  to-night  anyhow,  for  one 
hungry  soul." 

"Ah!  I  didn't  tell  you  yet,  Maria,"  said  Mr. 
Hardenbrook  turning  to  his  wife.  "  I've  brought 
home  somebody  with  me  this  evening." 

"  Brought  home  !  "  cried  the  lady  with  a  kind  of 
subdued  scream.  "  Not  company,  Mr.  Hardenbrook? 
I  thought  you  were  alone." 

"  Company  for  Jonto.     It's  a  little  boy.'* 

"A  little  boy!  If  there's  anything  I  do  hate 
about  a  place,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  it  is  little  boys. 
Is  he  to  stay  here  ?  " 


86  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"That's  as  he  turns  out;  but  I  hope  so." 

"  Mercy  on  us ! —     How  old  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  ten,  I  should  think." 

"  He  aint  big  for  ten,  noder,"  said  Jonto. 

"  Where  did  you  pick  up  a  ten-years-old  boy, 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  ?  " 

"  He  picked  me  up,  in  Deepford." 

"  And  what  ever  did  you  bring  him  home 
for?" 

"  It  was  the  only  way  I  could  take  care  of  him," 
said  Mr.  Hardenbrook  drily. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  Set  him  to  work." 

"  You  have  nothing  that  a  ten-years-old  boy  can 
do." 

"  Perhaps  I  have.     If  not,  I'll  invent  something." 

"  He's  right  peart,"  remarked  Jonto,  who  was 
going  in  and  out  and  arranging  the  table  and  the 
tea.  "He  kin  eat  a  pigeon  as  good  as  you  kin; 
and  pick  de  bones  better." 

"Pigeon!"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  "Did  you 
give  him  a  pigeon,  Jonto  ?  " 

"  Wanted  to  see  him  do  somefin,"  said  the  wo 
man  with  an  indescribable  air  of  her  head;  "so  I 
gib  him  dat.  Couldn't  nobody  ha'  done  it  no 
better.  One  o'  dem  pigeon  went  to  de  right  place, 
onyhow.  I  spects  dat  ar  one  were  made  to  eat; 
spects  it  was." 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughed.  "  Hungry,  was  he  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  Hungry !    Those  little  boys  are  always  hungry," 


JONTO'S  KITCHEN.  87 

responded  his  wife.  "They  eat  more  than  any 
thing  else  can  do." 

"'Cept  big  ones,"  Jonto  added.  "You  jes'  wait 
till  he's  dori&  growed  bigger !  One  pigeon !— " 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  how  could  you  bring  such  a 
creature  home,  when  you  know  how  I  hate  them  ?  " 

"  Never  thought  of  it,  my  dear,  at  first,  I  confess; 
and  then  the  poor  little  fellow  was  so  destitute." 

"Bes'  not  hate  what  de  Lord  loves,"  remarked 
Jonto.  "  'Taint  wholesome.  Aint  de  kingdom  ob 
heaven  made  up  o'  jes'  sich  ?  An'  aint  we  to  be 
like  little  chiFlen  ?  " 

"  That  aint  little  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook, 
with  a  great  air  of  disgust. 

"Is  dat  so,  Mr.  Har'nbrook ? "  inquired  Jonto, 
suddenly  pausing  at  this,  and  standing  with  her 
hands  upon  her  hips  to  await  the  answer.  Whether 
she  were  simple  or  cunning,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  could 
not  be  sure,  and  his  gravity  gave  way.  Jonto  stood 
with  immoveable  composure. 

"Go  along,  Jonto,  and  take  care  of  this  one," 
said  he.  "  I  don't  think  the  Bible  means  ten-year- 
old  little  children.  By  the  time  they  have  lived 
so  long  in  the  world  they  have  generally  lost  their 
likeness.  You'd  better  see  what  Stephen  is  about." 

"I  know!"  said  Jonto.  "He's  gittin'  into  that 
pigeon."  But  she  went. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

JONTO. 

QTEPHEN  had  done  no  more  than  her  statement 
O  implied ;  he  had  got  thoroughly  at  work  with 
the  pigeon,  but  it  was  very  far  too  delicious  a 
morsel  for  him  to  be  in  a  hurry  to  be  done  with  it. 
So  he  was  picking  every  bone  carefully  as  he  came 
to  it,  and  staying  his  hunger  meanwhile  with  as 
saults  upon  the  bread.  Stephen  had  never,  he 
thought,  seen  anything  so  good.  After  what 
seemed  years  of  corn  mush  and  molasses,  the 
beef  and  greens  at  Mrs.  Estey's  board  had  been 
sumptuous  fare ;  but  that  was  barbarity  compared 
to  the  viands  he  was  now  enjoying.  This  belonged 
to  another  sphere  of  life.  And  it  is  true  Jonto  was 
a  famous  cook;  she  could  make  a  delicate  dish  out 
of  what  to  Mrs.  Estey  would  have  been  a  meagre 
material  to  work  upon.  As  she  came  in  now  and 
saw  the  little  boy  tenderly  handling  the  bones  of 
the  pigeon  and  making  neat  work  of  carving  and 
cleaning  them,  she  did  not  smile  indeed  outwardly; 
but  an  inward  sense  of  complacency  diffused  itself 

through   her  and   gave   a   very   satisfied   expres- 
(88 


JONTO.  89 

sion  to  her  face.  She  stood  still  a  minute  to  look 
on;  and  then  marching  into  some  pantry  or  closet 
near,  returned  with  a  mug  of  sweet  milk  which 
she  set  down  beside  the  accumulating  wrecks  of 
the  pigeon. 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  little  boy,  in  an  inimitable  tone 
of  incredulous  gladness,  "is  this  for  me?" 

"  Drink  it  down,  honey,  as  fast  as  ye  like,"  said 
Jonto  heartily.  "  Don't  folks  keep  no  cows  where 
you  come  from  ?  " 

"  0  yes,  they  kept  cows,  some  of  'em,"  said  Ste 
phen,  after  an  appreciative  draught  from  the  mug; 
— "  but  they  made  it  all  into  butter,  some  of  'em, 
and  hadn't  any  to  spare — not  till  it  was  sour?" 

"  What  does  dey  gib  deir  chil'len  to  eat  ?  " 

"  0  bread,  and  meat,"  said  Stephen;  "  most  of  'em. 
And  sour  milk's  good  too,  if  you  can't  get  any  other." 

"  So  you'se  lived  on  bread  and  meat.  What  sort 
o'  meat  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  I  lived  on  it,"  said  the  little  boy. 

"What  did  you  live  on,  honey?" 

"  0  mush,  a  good  deal ;  mush  and  molasses.  That 
is,  when  I  was  at  home." 

"  An'  ye  didn't  have  no  bread  nor  milk  ?  " 

"  We  couldn't  afford  it.  Mother  had  a  little  bread 
with  her  tea ;  and  she  used  to  make  corn  cakes  for 
me  sometimes." 

"  Like  'em  ?  "  said  Jonto,  watching  the  disappear 
ing  pigeon. 

But  Stephen  merely  answered  yes.  The  mention 
of  corn  cakes  called  up  too  many  things  for  him 


90  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

to  want  to  talk  about  them ;  and  Jon  to  let  him  alone 
till  his  supper  was  done,  and  Stephen  had  turned 
from  the  table. 

"  What's  you  come  here  fur  now,  do  ye  s'pose  ?  " 
she  asked  then. 

"Work,  ma'am,  I  suppose,"  said  little  Stephen, 
swinging  his  legs  contentedly  before  the  fire.  Jonto 
pursed  up  her  face. 

"What  sort?" 

"  I  don'  know.     Mr.  Hardenbrook'll  find  out." 

"  Who  sent  ye,  honey  ?  " 

"Nobody  sent  me,"  said  Stephen,  looking  up  a 
little  surprised  at  the  inquiry.  "  Except — I  guess, 
God  sent  me." 

"  What  fur  you  t'ink  dat  ?  " 

"  'Cause  there  wasn't  anybody  else,"  said  Stephen 
thoughtfully.  "And  mother  shewed  me  the  place 
in  the  Bible." 

"  What  place  is  dat  ?  " 

"I  know,"  said  Stephen.  "She  shewed  it  to  rne. 
It  says  the  widows  are  to  trust  in  him,  and  he'll 
take  care  of  the  fatherless.  And  she  trusted  him. 
And  I  think  he's  taken  care  o'  me." 

And  the  swing  of  Stephen's  little  legs  was  pleas 
ant  to  see,  it  expressed  so  undoubtedly  the  fixed 
state  of  his  mind.  Jonto  saw  it,  and  was  happy. 

"I  s'pects  you'se  a  boy  what  has  had  a  good 
modder,"  she  remarked.  But  Stephen  did  not  follow 
that  lead;  he  stopped  swinging  his  legs  and  looked 
meditatively  in  the  fire. 

"  Haint  you  got  no  fader  neider  ?  " 


JONTO.  91 

Stephen  shook  his  head.  "  Not  since  I  was  seven 
years  old." 

"  How  old  is  you  now  ?  " 

"Ten  and  a  half." 

"  Is  you  tired  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Yes,  I  guess  I  am." 

"  How  fur  ha'  you  travelled  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It's  six  miles  from  Whitebrook 
to  Deepford." 

"  How'd  ye  come  dem  six  mile  ?  " 

UI  walked." 

"  You  did !  Who  told  you  Mr.  Har'nbrook  'ud 
be  at  Deepford  to-day  ?  " 

"Nobody  told  me.  I  didn't  know.  Only  God 
knew,  I  guess." 

"  What  ever  did  ye  go  to  Deepford  dem  six  mile 
fur,  den  ?  " 

"  Work.  I  hoped  I'd  find  some  one  that  would 
give  me  work." 

"  What  you  want  work  fur  ?  " 

"I  want  money,"  said  Stephen  gravely;  "and 
that's  the  only  way  I  can  get  it." 

"  What  you  want  money  fur,  hey  ?  " 

Stephen  looked  up.  "  Why,  I  have  no  one  to  take 
care  of  me,"  he  said.  "  I  must  work,  and  get  some 
wages." 

"  Honey,  you's  not  big  'nuff  yet  to  earn  no  wages. 
Can't  earn  your  bread  and  salt.  Not  yet." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  said  Stephen ;  though  a  little  less 
confidently.  "  And  I  shall  grow  bigger."  His  legs 
began  to  swing  again. 


92  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  work  in  dat  place  whar  you 
come  from  den  ?  Tears  dat  would  ha'  been  nat'ral. 
You  didn't  know,  you  see,  Mr.  Har'nbrook  'ud  be 
dar.  Aint  t'ings  won'erful  in  dis  world !  An'  now 
you'se  here.  Honey,  whar's  your  t'ings  ?  " 

"  What  things,  ma'am  ?  0  you  mean  my  clothes  ? 
I  left  'em  in  Whitebrook,  at  Mrs.  Estey's." 

"  What's  she?" 

"Mrs.  Estey?  She's  Mrs.  Estey;  farmer  Josh 
Estey's  wife;  she  took  care  of  me  since — since  mo 
ther  died." 

"  How  long's  dat,  honey  ?  " 

"  'Most  a  month,"  said  Stephen  soberly. 

"  Funny  sort  o'  keer  she  took  o'  ye ! — let  you  go 
off  by  yourself  to  seek  your  fortin  that  a  way !  I'd 
like  to  take  keer  o'  her  for  a  while." 

"  0  she  was  very  good  to  me,"  cried  Stephen. 
"  She  did  not  want  me  to  go.  I  bid  her  good  bye,  but 
I  don't  think  she  believed  I  was  going." 

"  Whar  was  her  man  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Estey  ?     Gone  out  to  plough." 

"Whar  was  de  chil'len?  warn't  dere  none?  " 

"  0  yes.     They  were  gone  to  school." 

"  Why  warn't  you  gone  to  school  too,  'long  o' 
dem?" 

"Nobody  sent  me.  I  haven't  been  to  school 
since  father  died." 

"  What  fur  no  ?  " 

"  Mother  wanted  me  at  home  to  help  her." 

Jonto's  investigations  were  here  interrupted  by 
the  call  to  clear  the  supper  table.  She  sat  down  to 


IONTO.  93 

her  own  supper  then,  but  studied  Stephen  all  the 
while ;  till  she  saw  that  the  little  feet  were  swing 
ing  no  longer,  and  that  the  head  was  nodding.  She 
pushed  her  plate  away  then  with  great  energy. 

"  Aint  you  wuss'n  oder  folks,  Jonto  !  "  she  said  to 
herself  in  an  audible  soliloquy.  "  You  what  knows 
better.  Got  eberyt'ing  you  want;  and  you  don't 
keer  ef  de  res'  o'  de  world  has  a  bed  to  lie  in  or  not ! 
See  de  blessed  chile  can't  keep  his  eyes  open  no 
sort  o'  how.  Know  he's  dead  tired,  ef  he  don't  know 
it.  He's  got  sperrit  'nuff  to  go  lookin'  for  work  in 
his  sleep,  I  do  b'lieve.  Now,  Jonto,  be  smart  for 
once,  ef  ye  kin." 

She  left  her  table  arid  her  kitchen  and  Stephen 
asleep  before  the  fire,  and  went  up  a  narrow  stair 
way  shut  off  from  the  kitchen  by  a  door.  At  the 
top  there  was  a  small  gallery  with  several  doors 
opening  into  it.  The  first  of  these  let  Jonto  into  a 
little  bit  of  an  unused  room.  Nothing  whatever 
was  in  the  room.  A  moment  she  stood  surveying 
the  place  and  thinking;  then,  late  as  the  time  was, 
she  fetched  a  broom  and  began  operations  by 
making  the  floor  broom  clean.  Then  she  lugged 
in  a  cot  from  somewhere,  and  then  a  bed  to  put 
on  the  cot;  and  coverings  for  the  bed.  Next  a 
chair  was  brought  in,  and  then  a  chair  with  no 
back  to  it,  on  which  Jonto  presently  placed  a  tin 
basin  and  a  towel.  Then  she  went  down  stairs 
and  brought  the  sleepy  little  boy  up  to  his 
quarters. 

"'Taint  fixed  up  yet,"  she  said;   "but  de  fust 


94  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

t'ing  is  to  sleep,  and  you  kin  sleep,  as  fast  as  ye 
like.  An'  den,  when  you  gets  up  in  de  mornin', 
de  next  t'ing  is  to  wash  yourself;  an'  here's  a  pail 
o'  water  and  a  piece  o'  soap,  and  a  basin  and  a 
towel.  Now  when  you  gits  up,  honey,  you  gib 
yourself  a  right  smart  scrub,  and  wash  off  all  dat 
dust  o'  dose  six  mile  o'  walkin'  dis  mornin';  make 
yourself  as  clean  as  a  whistle  from  you'se  head  to 
you'se  heels;  an'  I'll  shake  out  you'se  coat  and 
trowsers,  dat  I'se  warrant  dere's  no  dust  left  in 
dem.  Now  honey,  dis  yer  aint  Whitebrook — I  'spect 
it's  a  better  place ;  but  onyhow  de  Lord's  here  like 
as  he  was  dar;  don't  you  go  and  be  like  Jacob, 
what  fought  he  had  left  de  Lord  whar  he  come 
from,  till  he  seed  him  atop  o'  de  ladder  o'  light. 
Dat  aint  de  way  for  de  Lord's  chil'len  to  do ;  and 
you'se  one  of  'em,  aint  ye  ?  " 

"  Yes,  m'm,"  Stephen  answered,  with  an  inno 
cent  but  honest  look. 

"Den  go  to'sleep,  chile;  you'se  all  right." 

Stephen  obeyed  the  advice  immediately.  Too 
tired  and  sleepy  to  think  or  even  be  glad,  all  he 
could  do  was  to  say  one  very  short  little  prayer 
and  get  off  his  clothes  and  tumble  into  bed. 

But  the  waking  was  another  matter.  At  Ste 
phen's  age,  sleep  does  her  work  of  renovation  fast 
and  thoroughly;  in  the  morning  he  was  another 
boy.  He  waked  up  feeling  strong  and  clear  and 
bright/  it  was  the  way  he  always  waked  up;  sleep 
never  hung  about  him  stupidly  after  its  work  was 
done.  For  a  few  minutes  however  he  lay  still  to 


JONTO.  95 

look  and  think.  He  hardly  remembered  how  he 
had  got  into  this  little  room  last  night,  so  it  was 
something  to  be  examined.  It  was  a  very  little 
room ;  his  bed's  head  touched  one  wall  and  its  foot 
another;  but  so  long  as  there  was  room  enough  for 
his  cot  between  them,  what  did  that  matter  ?  and 
he  lay  very  comfortably.  Stephen  noticed  how 
sweet  and  clean  the  sheets  and  the  pillow  were; 
not  like  his  bed  at  Mrs.  Estey's,  where  he  had  shared 
the  couch  of  one  of  her  boys  who  would  never  let 
anything  be  very  nice  that  was  used  by  him.  Ste 
phen  had  been  trained  by  his  mother  to  be  fastidi 
ously  nice;  it  was  one  of  the  bits  of  gentle  training 
she  had  been  able  to  give  him ;  and  his  whole  nature 
responded  to  it.  So  here  he  was  suited.  The  little 
room  was  whitewashed  and  clean  and  sweet;  there 
hung  his  dusted  clothes  on  the  chair,  and  there 
was  the  pail  of  water  ready  for  him.  Stephen  lay 
still  a  minute  longer  to  enjoy  things.  How  wonder 
ful  it  was !  here  was  he  in  a  room  of  his  own,  he 
had  found  a  place  and  work,  he  was  a  "hired  boy  "; 
which  as  it  had  been  just  now  the  object  of  his 
ambition  afforded  him,  we  may  suppose,  an  equal 
amount  of  satisfaction  to  that  given  by  the  fulfilled 
ambitions  of  loftier  aspirants.  Things  are  so  rela 
tive  in  this  world.  And  then,  Stephen  had  been 
fed  last  night  with  the  daintiest  supper  he  had  ever 
tasted ;  it  was  quite  to  be  expected  that  the  break 
fast  would  be  comfortable;  and  Stephen  was  already 
beginning  to  feel  that  it  would  be  very  comfortable, 
With  that  came  anew  the  thought  of  getting  up, 


96  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

which  was  a  necessary  preliminary;  and  Stephen 
sprang  out  of  bed. 

It  was  still  early.  The  sun  was  not  thinking  of 
making  his  appearance  yet ;  only  a  soft,  grey,  clear 
light  was  filling  the  earth  and  broadening  and 
brightening  with  every'  minute.  That  was  as  it 
should  be,  too;  Stephen  would  have  been  ashamed 
to  be  late  in  bed.  He  had  been  always  wont  to  be 
up  early,  to  do  things  for  his  mother,  and  so  had 
got  the  habit.  He  applied  himself  to  the  cold 
water  and  soap;  and  was  as  clean  a  boy  as  his 
travel-worn  suit  permitted,  when  he  went  down 
stairs  to  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

POSIE. 

IN  the  kitchen  he  found  Jonto. 
Jonto  was  crouching  in  front  of  the  fireplace, 
just  beginning  to  rake  open  the  ashes  of  the  care 
fully  covered-up  fire.     Stephen  had  come  in  softly, 
and  she  did  not  see  him  till  he  was  beside  her. 

"  I  can  do  that — "  he  said. 

"Chile !  you  skeert  me,"  said  Jonto  turning.  " Ha 
you  had  a  good  sleep  in  your  new  bed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  m'm,  thank  you." 

" Den  ha'  you  t'anked  de  Lord?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Stephen  softly. 

"Ef  you  git  a  good  sleep,  you  should  t'ank  de 
Lord.  Dar  is  folks  what  can't  sleep,  poor  critters ! 
Is  you  done  rested  ?  " 

"  Yes  ma'am.     I  can  kindle  the  fire." 

"  T'ink  you  kin  ?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am.  I  used  to  kindle  the  fire  for 
mother." 

"Den  let's  see  you." 

She  got  up  and  stood  on  one  side,  watching  him. 
Stephen  raked  the  ashes  open  carefully  till  he  found 

97) 


98  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

the  living  coals  kept  alive  under  them;  then  he 
rolled  a  big  log  into  place  at  the  back  of  the  chim 
ney,  with  much  labour;  but  Jonto  let  him  alone  and 
even  offered  no  suggestion.  With  much  pains  and 
some  skill  Stephen  got  it  done.  Then  he  laid  kin 
clling  artistically  right;  piled  sticks  on  the  fire 
dogs;  and  finally  puffed  at  the  coals  till  he  set 
them  ablaze.  The  fire  crackled  and  the  blaze 
sprung  up  chimney. 

"  Who  shewed  ye  how,  honey  ?  "  said  Jonto. 

"  1  used  to  see  father  make  the  fire.  And  I  al 
ways  did  it  since  for  mother." 

"  Dat  is  jes'  right,"  said  Jonto.  "  I  couldn't  ha* 
done  it  no  better.  Mos'  folks  t'ink  dey  mus'  set  de 
sticks  all  crossways ;  de  fire  won't  burn  dat  a  way ; 
and  I  see  you  done  laid  de  wood  so  de  air  kin  git 
in.  Now  you  want  some  breakfust,  hey  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am." 

"  Never  see  a  boy  what  didn't  want  his  break- 
fust  ;  widout  he  war  sick.  Was  you  ever  sick  ?  " 

"No,  ma'am,  not  since  I  had  the  measles." 

"  Did  you  t'ank  de  good  Lord  for  dat,  chile  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am." 

"You  look  out.  'Spect  you'll  find  plenty  to 
t'ank  him  fur;  and  den,  mind  you  does  it." 

Bustling  about,  Jonto  soon  had  various  things 
preparing  for  the  breakfast  of  the  family,  and  the 
kitchen  air  redolent  of  savoury  cooking.  Not  wait 
ing  for  these  matters  to  come  to  completion  how 
ever,  Jonto,  when  they  were  well  under  weigh,  set 
a  plate  and  bowl  for  Stephen  and  brought  out  milk 


POSIE.  99 

and  bread  and  baked  apples.  Stephen  made  what 
he  thought  a  royal  meal,  for  the  milk  was  good, 
and  the  bread  and  apples  unlimited. 

He  had  just  finished  his  milk,  and  was  turning 
with  a  satisfied  feeling  of  being  ready  now  for  any 
thing  ;  when  a  door  slowly  opened,  and  first  a  little 
head  and  then  a  whole  little  figure  came  in.  Came 
in  just  within  the  door,  and  there  stood  still,  look 
ing  at  Stephen ;  and  Stephen  on  his  part  forgot  every 
thing  else  in  the  world  and  looked  at  her.  It  was  a 
delicious  little  apparition.  A  curly  head,  of  softest, 
sonsiest  brown  curls ;  a  round  little  face,  of  shell- 
like  tints  of  pink  and  white,  and  skin  as  delicate 
as  a  rose  leaf;  two  blue  eyes,  large  and  grave  and 
curious,  but  gentle  and  tender;  and  a  lovely  child 
ish  mouth,  at  this  moment  supernaturally  grave, 
but  looking  like  a  rose  bud  ready  to  open.  Arid 
the  figure  crowned  by  this  head  and  adorned  by 
this  face  was  a  charming  child's  figure,  round  and 
chubby  and  lithe,  with  nothing  of  the  stock  round 
ness  of  some  children,  that  look  as  if  their  joints 
must  be  stiff.  The  little  person  was  supple  and 
pliant,  and  took  now  one  and  now  another  curve  of 
gracefulness,  moved  thereto  by  shyness  perhaps,  or 
consciousness,  or  incipient  coquetry.  She  stood 
silently  looking  at  Stephen;  and  Stephen  was  as 
one  spellbound,  looking  at  her. 

"What's  you  arter  now,  Posie?"  said  Jonto. 
"  Come  to  see  ef  breakfust's  ready?  " 

"No." 

"  I  knowed  you  warn't.     Who  sent  you,  den  ?  " 


100  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Nobody." 

"  I  knowed  't  war  n't  nobody.  What  you  want 
o'  me,  hey  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"Didn't  I  know  dat  too?  Come  in.  Come  to 
see  my  company  ?  " 

Posie  did  not  say.  She  came  in  however,  wrig 
gling  her  little  person  in  those  graceful  curves 
aforesaid,  whereby  shoulders  and  head  went  now 
this  way  and  now  that;  but  not  awkwardly,  only 
as  it  were  coquetishly,  and  half  shyly.  From 
Stephen  she  did  not  meanwhile  move  her  eyes. 
She  came  up  close  to  Jonto  and  stood  there  by 
her  side. 

"  Well,  aint  you  gwine  to  speak  to  him  ?  Your 
pa's  done  brought  him  here  last  night  and  he's 
gwine  to  stay,  I  reckon.  Aint  you  gwine  to  tell 
him  you'se  glad  to  see  him  ?  Dat  ar  'd  be  perlite, 
whar  I  was  fetched  up." 

"  Who  is  she,  ma'am  ?  "  said  Stephen,  with  whom 
delight  overcame  every  other  feeling.  For  never 
had  he  seen  such  a  vision  of  a  child  before.  The 
Whitebrook  little  girls  were  coarse  in  comparison, 
at  least  in  respect  of  dress;  and  very  inferior  in 
attractiveness.  This  little  image  was  clad  in  a 
pretty  nankeen  frock,  the  short  sleeves  of  which 
were  tied  up  with  blue  ribbands. 

"  Who  is  you,  Posie  ?  "  said  Jonto  repeating  the 
question. 

"  I'se  Miss  Hardenbrook." 

"  Oh ! — Clar,  now !     Is  you  dat.     Den  dis  yer  is 


POSIE.  101 

Mr.  Kay;  and  dat's  all  dere  is  to  be  said.  Aint 
chiPleii  won'erful !  Miss  Har'nbrook  and  Mr.  Kay ! 
Don't  dat  beat  all !  An'  who's  me,  Posie  V  " 

"You'se  Jonto." 

"  Oh  !  'Spects  I  is.  Nebber  knowed  my  own 
name.  'Spose  I  had  one  once;  but  la!  what's  de 
differ,  when  a  t'ing's  gone  done  lost?  'Spects  I'se 
Jonto,  sure  'nuff.  Won't  Miss  Har'nbrook  take  a 
cheer?" 

The  little  lady  wriggled  herself  into  a  chair, 
with  an  inimitable  air  of  incipient  young-lady 
hood.  Stephen  stood  still  regarding  her,  in  a  state 
of  delight  that  was  exceedingly  amusing  to  Jon 
to.  She  went  about  her  kitchen,  chuckling  and 
talking. 

"  What  d'ye  s'pose  Mr.  Kay's  done  come  fur,  hey, 
Posie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  'Cause  father  thought  he  was  a 
good  boy.v 

"Spec'  he  warn't  fur  wrong,  neider.  What  does 
you  t'ink  your  pa  '11  do  wid  him  ?  " 

"  Father  wants  him  to  come  to  the  parlour." 

"  Oh,  do  he !  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before. 
Well,  take  him  along,  den,  and  shew  him  to  your 
ma,  and  see  what  shell  say  to  him." 

"She  don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
him." 

"  Well,  take  him  along,  dear,  and  let  her  see  him. 
Maybe  she'll  change  her  mind.  Jes'  you  tell  her 
it's  Mr.  Kay,  will  ye  ?  " 

"She   aint   down   stairs   yet.     We  haven't  had 


102  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

breakfast.  Father  don't  want  him  to  come  till 
we've  had  breakfast." 

"  Well,  ye'll  git  it  afore  long,  ef  I  don't  hab  too 
much  fine  company,"  said  Jonto,  now  turning  her 
attention  to  her  own  proper  business.  The  two 
children  took  no  note  of  anything  but  each  of  the 
other. 

"  Have  you  had  breakfast  ?  "  Miss  Posie  asked  at 
length." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Stephen. 

"  A  good  breakfast  ?  " 

"Yes,  very  good." 

"  What  did  you  have  ?  "  said  Posie,  now  suddenly 
slipping  down  from  her  chair  and  coming  a  step 
nearer  to  Stephen. 

41  Apples,  and  bread,  and  milk." 

"That  all?" 

"Yes." 

"Didn't  Jonto  give  you  any  butter?" 

"  Butter ! "  said  Jonto.  "  You  let  him  alone,  Posie. 
What  does  he  want  wid  butter,  hey  ?  Bread  and 
milk  good  'nuff  fur  him,  and  fur  you  too." 

"  Ah  but  I  have  cakes  and  butter  and  molasses, 
and  coffee !  "  cried  the  little  girl  triumphantly. 

"  0'  course  ye  does,"  said  the  woman.  "  Dat  ar 
aint  de  way  I  used  to  bring  up  my  chil'len." 

"  Where  are  your  children,  Jonto  ?  " 

"Don'  know,  chile.  Dey  aint  chil'len  no  mo', 
and  dey  aint  my  chil'len  no  mo'." 

"  Why  didn't  you  give  them  cakes  and  molasses  ?  " 

"  Make  deir  skin  yaller,  chile." 


POSIE.  103 

"How  could  it?"  said  the  little  girl  laughing. 
"  They  must  have  had  black  skins;  and  black  skins 
couldn't  turn  yellow." 

"  Black  ?  dose  little  skins  was  as  white  as  lilies, 
and  as  pink  as  peach  blossoms.  Dey  warn't  my 
true  chil'len ;  only  while  dey  was  little ;  den  I  gib 
'em  up  to  deir  modder.  An'  she,  she  gib  'em  trash, 
and  deir  skins  warn't  like  lilies  and  peach  blossoms 
no  mo'.  Yes,  chile,  dat's  so.  Now  you  git  out  o* 
my  way,  you  two,  and  let  me  jes'  git  at  de  fire. 
Hi!  Mass'  Har'nbrook,  he'll  knock  my  head  off, 
'cos  his  breakfust  aint  ready,  ef  I  don't  make  de 
dus'  fly.  You  go  off,  chil'lens." 

The  two  drew  back  a  little,  and  with  that  a  little 
nearer  to  each  other. 

"Don't  you  like  cakes  and  molasses?"  asked 
Posie  confidentially. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Stephen. 

"  Don't  you  want  some  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  he  smiling.     "  Not  this  morning." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Posie,  coming  a  little  nearer,  for 
she  liked  the  smile. 

"I've  had  enough  already." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  feel  so,"  Stephen  answered  laughing.  "  Don't 
you  know  when  you  have  got  enough  ?  " 

4<  No,"  said  Posie  boldly.  "  I  can  eat  cakes  and 
molasses  after  I've  got  enough." 

" Chil'len,"  said  Jonto  here, — "you  go  and  clar 
out.  Ef  you  don't  let  me  stop  larfin,  I  can't  see  to 
git  my  breakfust.  You  run  along  out  dar,  and  let 


104  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

me  alone  a  while.  I'll  call  you,  Posie,  when  it's 
ready." 

The  children  obeyed  this  request,  and  went  out 
of  the  kitchen  by  the  same  door  through  which 
Stephen  had  looked  in  and  come  in  last  night. 
Stephen  could  see  now  what  his  surroundings  were. 
On  one  side  of  the  house  stretched  a  line  of  stables, 
sheds,  and  the  like ;  opposite  the  house,  and  like  it 
at  a  right  angle  with  this  row  of  outbuildings,  was 
a  long,  high,  monotonous  looking  brick  edifice; 
with  row  over  row  of  windows,  indicating  story 
over  story  of  its  inner  arrangement.  Square, 
straight-lined,  unvaried  by  any  break  or  adorn 
ment,  it  was  a  very  bare  and  unpromising  pile. 
The  fourth  side  of  the  square  yard  was  not  built  up, 
otherwise  than  with  a  very  high  board  fence,  in 
which  there  was  a  gate,  also  of  boards,  in  two  door- 
like  leaves;  now  closed  and  barred.  Above  all  this 
a  tender  May  sun  was  shining,  not  very  high  up 
yet  in  a  soft  blue  sky ;  the  yard  was  neatly  kept ; 
the  place  looked  orderly  and  like  business ;  but  it 
offered  no  prospects  of  pleasure.  The  children 
stood  still  a  moment. 

"Look  here,"  said  Posie;  "let's  go  down  to  the 
brook." 

"  Where's  that  ?  "  said  Stephen. 

"  Come  along,  I'll  shew  you."  said  the  little  girl, 
setting  off  on  a  run  to  the  big  gates.  "  Here,  can 
you  open  this  ?  I  can't.  You  open  it." 

"  It's  locked,"  said  Stephen. 

"Unlock  it." 


POSIE.  105 

"  Maybe  Mr.  Hardenbrook  wouldn't  like  it." 

"Yes  he  will.     He  likes  everything  I  like." 

"  But  if  we  go  far,  Jonto  won't  be  able  to  reach 
us,  when  she  wants  to  call  you." 

"  I  don't  care — "  said  Posie,  setting  off  to  run 
again  a?  soon  as  the  gate  was  opened,  after  she  had 
seized  Stephen's  hand  to  make  sure  of  his  keeping 
pace  with  her.  They  ran  down  the  road,  leaving 
the  house  and  whole  little  settlement  behind  them. 
After  a  few  rods  they  came  to  a  place  where  the 
road  passed  over  a  little  platform  bridge.  On  the 
bridge  Posie  stood  still.  The  rush  of  waters  was- 
audible  underneath;  and  to  the  left  the  waters 
themselves  could  be  seen,  rushing  over  a  rocky 
bed,  between  fringing  banks  of  maple,  oak  and 
alder,  with  wild  thorn  and  nameless,  rank,  low- 
growing  shrubs  and  plants.  The  young  trees  nearly 
closed  over  the  narrow  stream  with  their  bushy 
bending  tops;  under  the  green  arbour  thus  formed 
for  it  the  brook  hurried  along,  its  waters  looking 
dark  in  the  absence  of  the  sunlight  which  there 
could  not  get  to  it. 

"  There  is  the  brook,"  said  Posie. 

"  It's  a  beautiful  brook,"  said  Stephen.  u  But 
what  makes  that  roar?  " 

"  Roar  ? — 0  that's  the  Fall.  It's  just  a  little  way 
over  there,  that  side  of  the  bridge.  Come  along, 
I'll  shew  it  to  you." 

Stephen  could  offer  no  effectual  resistance;  the 
little  lady  dragged  him  away  with  her,  over  the 
bridge,  along  the  road,  which  presently  descended 


106  STEPHEN,  M.D, 

a  pretty  steep  hill,  along  on  the  level  again ;  then 
making  a  sudden  turn  she  went  over  a  low  place 
in  the  fence  at  their  right  into  a  meadow.  Here 
it  was  less  easy  running;  the  grass  was  rank  and 
thick  and  the  ground  uneven;  however,  Posie 
skipped  over  it  like  a  young  deer,  leaving  the  road 
behind  her  and  making  her  way  towards  the  upper 
end  of  the  meadow,  where  low  copsewood  bor 
dered  and  fenced  it  in.  Before  they  got  so  far, 
the  two  children  came  upon  a  turn  of  the  brook, 
hurrying  down  as  they  were  hurrying  up,  and  to  all 
appearance  in  as  much  of  a  hurry.  Its  waters  still 
looked  dark,  although  in  the  full  sunlight  here;  it 
was  just  deep  enough  to  be  dark;  and  went  tum 
bling  along  over  stones  which  strewed  its  bed, 
boiling,  dashing,  eddying,  rushing  round  corners, 
but  never  seeming  quieter  when  the  corner  was 
turned.  The  banks  here  were  grassy ;  rank,  strong 
tufts  of  grass  bordering  the  edges,  which  the  mow 
ers'  scythes  never  cut  and  trimmed  into  finer  and 
more  delicate  growth.  As  soon  as  the  stream  was 
reached  Stephen  involuntarily  stood  still. 

"  0,  here  it  is  again ! "  he  cried  with  an  accent 
of  joy.  "  Aint  it  the  same  brook  ?  " 

"Why  of  course,"  said  Posie.  "How  could  it 
be  any  other? 

Which  unphilosophical  view  Stephen  did  not 
combat. 

"  0  what  a  grand  brook !  How  it  does  run,  Posie." 
He  stooped,  and  put  his  hand  in  the  water.  "  Ei ! 
it's  real  strong,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  guess  it  would 


POSIE.  107 

take  my  hand  off,  if  it  wasn't  so  strong  on.  A  ship 
would  go  fast  on  that  brook,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  A  ship  ?  What  sort  of  a  ship  ?  "  said  Posie,  also 
stepping  carefully  to  the  edge  of  the  brook  and 
squatting  down  to  dip  her  hand  in  the  water. 
"Aint  it  strong! — But  it's  wet  here,  Stephen,  and 
dirty.  See — I've  got  my  feet  all  wet." 

"  0  dear,  dear ! "  said  Stephen  dismayed.  "  And 
your  nice  dress !  you've  got  it  in  the  mud.  We'd 
better  go  right  home.  Your  mother'll  be  angry, 
won't  she?  " 

"  No ! "  said  Posie  confidently;  " she's  never  angry 
with  me.  She  worries,  you  know,  but  it  don't 
amount  to  much.  I'm  not  going  home — I'm  going 
to  the  Falls.  Come  !  Come,  Stephen,  come  along." 

Off  she  went  and  Stephen  could  but  follow  her. 
Away  she  skipped  over  the  rough  grass  and  hum- 
mocky  ground;  her  extreme  neatness  of  attire  cer 
tainly  somewhat  damaged,  but  her  zeal  not  at 
all.  Stephen  followed  with  some  scruples  and 
qualms,  and  anticipations  that  somehow  he  might  be 
brought  in  for  blame  that  was  not  his.  However, 
the  present  adventure  was  most  delightful,  what 
ever  came  of  it;  given  a  brook  and  a  meadow,  and  a 
spring  morning,  and  what  more  does  a  boy  want? 
except  indeed  a  playmate;  and  that  Stephen  had 
to  his  hand,  and  a  rare  one. 

The  children  ran  now  up  the  course  of  the  brook, 
not  following  its  windings,  but  striking  across 
straight  towards  a  particular  point  of  the  copse 
at  the  head  of  the  meadow.  Reaching  it,  Posie 


108  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

pushed  in  between  the  trees  and  bushes  for  a  few 
yards,  and  then  she  stopped.  They  were  on  the 
border  of  the  brook  again,  and  six  or  eight  feet 
from  them,  to  the  right,  the  waters  dashed  down 
over  a  ledge  of  rock  perhaps  ten  feet  high.  The 
waters  came  with  a  will,  as  we  have  seen,  even  in 
their  quietest  places;  and  the  down  pour  here  Avas 
determined  accordingly.  At  the  bottom  all  was 
foam  and  roar,  and  from  thence  the  brook  set  off 
with  new  energy  and  eagerness  on  its  way  to  its 
distant  goal. 

"There's  the  Fall,"  said  Posie. 

"  It  is  magnificent ! "  said  Stephen.  "  It's  a  real 
Niagara." 

*'  What's  Niagara  ?  "  inquired  Posie. 

"It  is  a  great  Fall  of  water  somewhere;  I  have 
heard  my  mother  tell  about  it;  it's  very  big,  and 
folks  go  to  see  it.  Perhaps  it  may  be  a  little  big 
ger  than  this,  but  I  dare  say  this  is  quite  as  good." 

"Then  we'll  call  it  Niagara,"  said  Posie.  "It 
never  had  any  name  before,  only  I  called  it  the 
Fall.  A  thing's  a  great  deal  nicer  when  it's  got 
a  name,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Chil-len !  "— 

Here  came  a  prolonged  call  from  somewhere 
seemingly  above  them. 

"  That's  Jonto — "  said  Posie  laughing. 

"Chil-len!—" 

"  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  0  up  there — on  the  bridge.  The  bridge  is  just 
a  little  way  up  there.  Y — es ! — " 


POSIE.  109 

"  We're  comin' !  "  Stephen  shouted. 

And  that  morning's  diversion  was  over.  Unless 
I  count  the  run  homeward,  which  really  belonged 
to  it.  Such  a  scramble  as  it  was !  Such  a  flying 
across  the  rough  meadow;  such  a  whisking  over 
the  fence ;  such  a  chase  up  the  road.  Stephen  had 
a  little  sense  of  guilt  upon  him,  however  innocently 
contracted;  Posie  had  none,  and  she  shouted  for 
fun  as  she  ran.  And  then  two  very  rosy,  panting, 
bright-eyed  creatures  tumbled  rather  than  walked 
into  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CHIPS. 

"QEE  dar,  now!"  said  Jonto,  standing  and  sur- 

O  veying  them.  "  What  you  'spect  your  ma  Ml 
say,  hey?  Dar's  your  pa  and  ma  eatin'  breakfust 
alone,  dis  half  hour;  and  you  done  run  half  de 
way  to  Cowslip;  and  pullin'  dat  boy  along;  an' 
now  he'll  git  scolded,  you'll  see ;  and  'taint  him  as 
done  it.  What  you  arter,  hey,  'fore  you  git  your 
breakfus',  dis  time  in  de  mornin'  ?  What  you  arter, 
Posie?" 

"I  wanted  to  show  Stephen  the  Falls.  We've 
been  to  Niagara.  See  my  feet,  Jonto."  She  dis 
played  them,  to  Jonto's  horror. 

"Aint  you  'nuff  to  keep  six  folks  waitin'  on 
you!  Hope  you'll  marry  a  rich  man  when  you 
grows  up,  or  I'se  be  boun'  ye'll  live  in  hot  water." 

"  It's  her  feet  want  to  go  in  hot  water  now,"  s*aid 
Stephen,  who,  concerned  as  he  was  about  the  es 
capade  in  which  he  had  been  involuntary  partaker, 
thought  more  of  his  little  companion  than  of  him 
self.  "  She  got  into  the  soft  ground  at  the  edge 
of  the  brook  before  we  knew  it  was  wet."  He 
(110) 


CHIPS.  Ill 

looked  at  the  black-white  stockings  with  some 
dismay.  Jonto  stooped  down  and  felt  of  them. 

"Dey's  as  wet  as  dey  kin  be,"  she  said.  "You 
sit  down  and  keep  still  dar  till  I  git  you  somefin 
dry.  Your  ma's  in  a  awful  hurry;  but  she'll  jes' 
have  to  wait  till  I  git  you  fit  to  be  seen.  You 
wait  dar,  Posie." 

Posie  was  doubtful  what  to  do,  but  finally  con 
cluded  to  wait,  making  a  joke  of  the  whole  thing. 
Stephen  thought  it  no  joke.  However,  every  lesser 
thought  was  swallowed  up  in  admiration  and  won 
dering  delight  at  the  childish  vision  before  him. 
Flushed  cheeks  and  roguish  eyes,  curly  hair  tossed 
into  all  sorts  of  graceful  lines;  soft,  pliant  move 
ments,  sweet  wilful  bearing;  they  took  little  Ste 
phen  utterly  captive.  He  thought  he  and  Posie 
had  done  wrong  and  deserved  to  be  blamed;  but 
blame  could  not  fasten  on  such  a  creature,  it  would 
surely  attach  solely  to  him ;  he  was  content.  That 
would  be  merely  the  due  and  necessary  adjustment 
of  things.  So  he  stood  and  waited  and  looked  on, 
while  Jonto  brought  clean  shoes  and  stockings  and 
put  them  on  Posie.  That  done,  the  little  girl  was 
dashing  away. 

"  Stop,  stop !  "  cried  Jonto.  "  Here  ! — you'se  to 
take  Stephen  in  wid  you.  Your  ma,  she  wants  to 
see  him.  Dar — take  him  along.  An'  ax  your  pa 
what  we'se  to  do  for  Stephen's  t'ings  ?  " 

The  little  girl  flew  along  one  passage  and  another, 
followed  by  Stephen,  who  found  it  dreadful  to  be 
rushing  through  a  strange  house  at  that  rate,  but 


112  STEPHEN.   M.D. 

he  could  not  help  it.  Posie  dashed  in  at  a  door  at 
last,  and  more  slowly,  though  immediately,  Stephen 
went'in  after  her. 

It  was  a  large,  bright  room  to  which  he  found 
himself  introduced;  the  morning  sun  pouring  in  on 
a  breakfast  table,  and  two  people  were  sitting  at  the 
table.  One  of  them  he  knew;  the  other  was  a  lit 
tle  woman  with  an  oddly  fretful  face.  I  believe  she 
would  have  struck  Stephen  as  handsome  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  pinch  in  her  nose,  and  the  lines 
in  her  brow,  and  the  sound  of  her  voice  when  she 
spoke.  All  was  fretful  together.  Posie  forestalled 
criticism. 

"  0  what  have  you  got  for  breakfast  ?  I  know ! 
omelette.  0  I'm  so  hungry  !  And  biscuits." 

**  I  should  like  to  know  where  you  have  been  ?  " 
said  her  mother,  eyeing  her  with  her  head  a  one 
side. 

"  0  just  down  the  road," — the  little  girl  answered, 
drawing  up  a  chair  to  the  table. 

"  What  made  you  go  down  the  road  before  you 
had  had  your  breakfast,  you  crazy  thing?  I  sup 
pose  this  is  the  first  fruits  of  your  new  importation, 
Mr.  Hardenbrook.  I  don't  see  why  you  never  can 
be  contented  to  let  well  alone." 

"  Good  morning,  Stephen,"  said  his  friend  of  yes 
terday.  Stephen  bowed,  standing  still  a  few  paces 
within  the  door;  while  Posie  fell  to  on  the  omelette. 
" Maria,  this  is  my  new  little  boy." 

Maria  looked  at  him  critically. 

"  What  do  you  expect  a  child  like  that  to  do, 


CHIPS.  113 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  curl  of  her 
lip,  and  Stephen  thought  with  an  added  pinch  of 
her  nose.  "  Anything  but  lead  Posie  into  mischief? 
I  suppose  he  will  do  that.  1  hardly  supposed  he 
would  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  do  it." 

"What  mischief  have  you  done,  Stephen,  hey?" 

"  I  was  afraid  it  wasn't  right,  sir." 

"  Ah,  then  why  did  you  do  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook  sharply. 

Stephen  did  not  see  how  he  could  answer  with 
out  charging  the  fault,  where  it  belonged,  on  his 
little  companion ;  he  was  silent. 

"  Isn't  it  the  fashion  to  speak  when  you're  spok 
en  to,  in  the  parts  where  you  have  been  brought 
up?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Well  then,  why  don't  you  tell  me  what  I  ask 
you?" 

"  I  would,  ma'am,  if — " 

"If  what?" 

*'  If  I  could." 

"  Seems  to  me  you're  stupid  as  well  as  mischiev 
ous,"  said  the  lady  complacently.  "  What  did  you 
take  Posie  down  the  road  for?  And  how  far  did 
you  go  ?  " 

"  We  went  to  Niagara,  mother,"  said  Posie. 

"  To  Niagara !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Stephen  said  it  was  as  good  as  Niagara,  and  so 
I  said  we  would  call  it  Niagara.  It's  our  Niagara." 

"  You've  never  been  all  the  way  to  the  brook  in 
the  meadow  ?  " 


114  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

Posie  nodded.  "It  wasn't  far.  It  didn't  take 
but  a  few  minutes." 

"  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  your  new  boy's 
first  morning's  work  !  "  said  the  lady.  "  Wasn't  the 
meadow  wet?  Didn't  you  get  your  shoes  wet, 
Posie?" 

Posie  shook  her  head.    "  Feet's  all  dry,"  she  said. 

"  They  couldn't  be.  Here,  boy,  let  me  see  your 
feet.  Come  here.  Turn  up  your  foot,  so  I  can  see 
the  soles  of  your  shoes —  Dry?  why,  they're  as  wet 
as  they  can  be.  They  have  been  in  the  mud." 

"  Mine  are  dry,"  said  Posie. 

"  How  came  hers  to  be  dry  and  yours  to  be  wet, 
boy?" 

Stephen  was  in  a  great  dilemma.  With  much 
unwillingness,  he  had  been  forced  to  come  forward 
and  shew  the  condition  of  his  one  only  pair  of 
shoes;  but  to  give  the  explanation  asked  for  was 
worse  yet.  Posie  wheeled  round  in  her  chair  and 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  him  with  the  blankest,  blandest 
expression  of  curious  innocence.  Stephen  was  as 
tounded  and  fairly  confused  by  her  look. 

"  Can't  you  speak  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 

"  Speak,  Stephen,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook.  "  That 
is  a  simple  enough  thing  to  say.  There  can  be  no 
difficulty  in  it." 

"  Mine  got  wet  because  I  went  into  the  ground 
where  it  was  soft." 

"  Can't  you  finish,  and  say  hers  are  dry  because 
she  did  not  go  where  you  went  ?  " 

Stephen  looked  down  in  the  greatest  confusion. 


CHIPS.  115 

"  He's  a  stupid,  for  all  I  see,"  said  the  lady  laugh 
ing.  "  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  bargain,  Mr.  Harden- 
brook.  What's  your  name,  boy  ?  " 

"Stephen  Joyce  Kay." 

"  Three  names.  Well,  won't  you  take  him  where 
he  belongs,  Mr.  Hardenbrook?  and  instruct  him 
that  he  is  to  keep  there,  and  not  meddle  with 
Posie." 

"  I'm  going  to  meddle  with  him,  though,"  said 
the  little  girl.  "  I  like  him.  He's  going  to  play 
with  me." 

"Stephen  will  have  too  much  to  do  to  play  a 
great  deal  with  you,  Posie ;  he  is  going  to  be  a  busy 
little  boy,"  her  father  explained. 

"  What's  he  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  0  different  things.  He  is  going  to  learn  to 
work  in  my  factory." 

"  Among  the  men  ?     He's  too  little  to  work,  pa." 

"Anybody  that  is  old  enough  to  play,  is  old 
enough  to  do  something  besides  play,"  said  her 
father  gravely. 

"  He  don't  know  how  to  do  anything." 

"He  will  learn." 

"What  for  should  he  learn,  till  he's  bigger?" 

"  Posie,  you're  such  a  simpleton ! "  said  her  mo 
ther.  "This  little  boy  has  got  to  work,  to  earn  his 
bread." 

"I  haven't." 

"No,  you^ haven't,  because  papa  gives- it  to  you. 
This  little  boy  has  no  one  to  give  it  to  him." 

"  Pa  can  give  it  to  him." 


116  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Pa  won't,  though.  Your  father  will  teach  him 
how  to  be  useful,  if  he  can ;  and  then,  if  Stephen  is 
useful  he  will  deserve  to  have  his  bread,  and  he 
will  get  it." 

"  Does  nobody  that  aint  useful  deserve  to  have 
his  bread  ?  " 

"No,  of  course  not." 

Posie  looked  from  one  face  to  another,  in  doubt  or 
deliberation. 

"Then  I  don't  see  what's  to  become  of  you,  mo 
ther,"  she  concluded.  "I  am  useful,  but  I  don't 
think  you  are.  Pa,  Stephen  could  be  useful  to 
me." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughing, 
"  after  I  have  done  with  him  you  may  have  him, 
Posie.  Come,  Stephen,  you  and  I  will  go  about 
our  business.  He  shall  be  at  your  service,  Posie, 
after  he  has  got  through  his  work;  but  I  do  not 
know  when  that  will  be.  Now,  my  boy. — " 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  strode  through  the  passages  by 
which  Stephen  had  come,  till  they  reached  the 
kitchen  again.  Passing  through  this,  they  went 
out  into  the  court,  crossed  it,  and  entered  the 
ground  floor  of  the  long  factory  building.  They 
were  then  in  a  sort  of  office  room,  where  Stephen 
could  hear  very  plainly  a  whirring  and  clattering, 
of  which  he  had  been  aware  outside.  It  was 
louder  and  plainer  here,  and  when  Mr.  Harden 
brook  opened  an  inner  door  became  much  louder 
still.  It  was  confusing,  for  the  very  floor  under 
Stephen's  feet  seemed  to  feel  the  jar  of  machinery, 


CHIPS.  117 

as  no  doubt  it  did.  This  lower  floor  was  in  part 
devoted  to  the  work  of  a  sawing  mill;  Stephen 
perceived  a  big  wheel  in  one  corner,  and  moving 
frames  of  timber,  and  men  busy  hither  and  thither. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  did  riot  tarry  there,  however,  but 
turned  to  one  side  and  went  up  an  open  staircase 
to  the  floor  above.  The  shaking  could  be  felt  here 
too,  that  was  all;  the  machinery  was  left  below. 
In  this  upper  room,  which  was  long  and  wide,  a 
number  of  men  were  at  work  in  various  ways  with 
what  looked  like  carpenter's  tools ;  though  the  ma 
terial  upon  which  they  used  them  was  frequently 
dark  wood  of  various  hues.  Stephen  looked  on 
with  great  interest.  Men  were  turning  at  turning 
lathes;  they  were  planing;  and  they  were  doing 
a  great  many  other  things,  which  as  yet  he  could 
not  distinguish.  From  this  floor,  after  a  few  min 
utes,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  mounted  to  a  third.  Here, 
to  Stephen's  delight,  he  saw  finished  pieces  of 
furniture,  and  others  unfinished;  fitting,  putting 
together,  varnishing  and  polishing  were  going  on 
here. 

u  Now  you  have  seen  it  all,  Stephen,"  said  his 
conductor.  "On  this  floor,  you  see,  people  are 
putting  pieces  of  cherry  wood  and  pieces  of  ma 
hogany  and  pine  together  to  make  all  sorts  of 
things;  bedsteads  and  bureaus,  and  tables  and 
chairs,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  On  the  second 
floor,  below,  other  men  are  getting  out  the 
pieces,  cutting  the  veneers,  and  turning  the  legs 
and  rungs.  And  on  the  first  floor  of  all,  they  are 


118  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

sawing  out  the  timber  into  boards.  Which  of  it 
all  do  you  think  you  would  like  to  learn  to  do  ?  " 

"I  would  like  to  learn  it  all,  sir, — when  I  am 
big  enough." 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  pleased. 
"  That's  a  good  answer.  Always  learn  the  whole, 
and  get  to  the  bottom  of  things  if  you  can.  But 
where  shall  we  begin,  hey?  What  can  you  do 
now,  do  you  think  ?  Mr.  Gordon  ! — " 

At  this  word  a  man  came  towards  them  from  the 
middle  of  the  long  room.  He  was  a  tall,  lank  sort  of 
person;  he  had  sandy  hair  in  great  disorder;  and  he 
wore  an  apron  of  sacking  cloth  tied  tight  round  him. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Gordon.  I've  brought  you  a 
new  recruit  here,  you  see." 

"  Looks  very  new,"  said  the  other  with  a  doubt 
ful  smile  down  at  Stephen. 

"  He's  the  right  sort;  he  wants  to  learn  the  whole 
business.  Where  do  you  think  he  had  better  be- 
gin,  eh?" 

"  Should  say  he'd  better  begin  by  goin'  away  and 
goin'  to  school ! "  Mr.  Gordon  said,  scratching  his 
head,  which  did  not  need  any  more  disarranging. 

u  Ah,  yes,  but  you  see  he  is  a  little  fellow  who 
has  got  to  earn  his  bread  first  and  pick  up  his 
learning  afterwards;  and  I  want  to  help  him. 
What  can  he  do?" 

"  Dun'  know,  but  you  kin  try.     Ef  he's  a  mind — " 

"  0  he  has  a  mind !  no  fear.     Well  ?  " 

"  He's  got  to  begin  at  the  first  end — "  said  the 
other  laughing. 


CHIPS.  119 

"Yes.     What  is  that?" 

"  Wall — afore  he's  up  to  makin'  chips,  he  mought 
clear  away  the  chips  other  folks  make.  You  see, 
we  git  in  considerable  of  a  state  here,  by  the  time 
we've  ben  workin'  all  day,  the  hull  of  us;  and 
then  it's  nobody's  business,  you  see,  to  make  things 
straight  agin;  and,  I  declare,  some  days  I  can't 
hardly  see  the  floor,  for  what's  onto  it.  This  chap 
mought  make  a  road  for  us,  eh  ?  " 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook;  "he  might 
do  that  on  both  floors,  this  and  the  one  below. 
Hey,  Stephen?  I'll  give  you  these  two  rooms  to 
keep  in  order." 

"That's  more  'n  he  kin  do,"  said  Mr.  Gordon; 
"but  'twould  do  'em  no  harm  to  be  slicked  up  a  lit 
tle,  night  and  morning.  Guess  we  could  turn  off 
better  work,  ef  we  could  see  where  our  chips  went." 

"  Night  and  morning,  sir  ? "  said  Stephen,  be 
ginning  to  wonder  if  Mr.  Gordon's  activity  lasted 
through  the  night  as  well  as  the  day. 

"  Why  yes,— no !  not  both.  Night  or  morning, 
Stephen.  You  may  clear  up  after  the  workmen, 
and  give  them  a  clean  floor." 

Stephen  looked  at  the  long  stretch  of  the  apart 
ment,  littered  thick  as  it  was  with  chips,  shavings, 
bits  of  wood,  and  dust.  He  had  put  his  mother's 
little  room  in  order  often;  he  knew  what  it  meant. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  to  it?"  said  Mr.  Har 
denbrook,  watching  him. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  how  early  does  work  begin  ? 
I  mean,  how  early  must  the  rooms  be  ready  ?  " 


120  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Sensible  boy.  Well,  Mr.  Gordon  will  tell  you 
that  he  is  here  always  by  seven  o'clock." 

"  And  when  do  they  leave  off  and  go  away  at 
night,  sir?" 

"  Six." 

"  I'll  allow  him  two  hours  to  go  over  this  floor," 

"remarked   Mr.    Gordon.     "There's   a   good   many 

square  foot  in  it.     And  the  floor  below  is  wuss." 

"  Couldn't  I  do  one  in  the  morning  before  the 
men  come,  and  the  other  at  night  after  they  are 
gone  ?  "  asked  the  little  boy  modestly. 

"  That'll  be  it !  "  said  Gordon.  "  You've  got  a 
head  on  your  shoulders,  young  chap.  But  what'll 
he  do,  to  keep  out  o1  mischief  all  day,  Mr.  Harden- 
brook?" 

"  He'll  want  part  of  it  for  rest." 

"Fact.     But  too  much  rest  'ud  tire  him  agin." 

"Can't  you  shew  him  how  to  do  something?" 

"  Guess  I  kin,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  again  studying 
Stephen  and  scratching  his  yellow  head.  "Ever 
druv  a  nail  ?  " 

"Yes  sir,"  said  Stephen,  "  but  I  can't  do  it 
well." 

"Kin  you  hold  a  nail  for  somebody  else's 
hammer  ?  " 

"No  sir;  I  should  get  my  fingers  pounded." 

Mr.  Gordon  laughed,  Stephen  could  not  imagine 
why,  and  told  Mr.  Hardenbrook  he  "would  do." 
And  with  that  Stephen  was  disposed  of,  and  the 
conversation  passed  to  other  things. 


CHAPTER  XL 

STEPHEN'S  WOKK. 

THE  little  boy  entered  upon  his  novitiate  of 
instruction  that  very  day.  By  Mr.  Harden- 
brook's  desire  he  staid  at  the  factory  after  the 
master  left  it,  and  was  ordered  to  wait  upon  Mr. 
Gordon.  It  was  amusing  at  first  to  do  this;  for 
Stephen  was  interested  and  curious  about  the  va 
rious  manufactures  that  were  going  on;  it  was 
very  entertaining  to  him  to  see  how  the  men 
handled  their  tools,  how  they  prepared  their  pieces 
of  wood  and  put  them  together.  After  a  while 
Mr.  Gordon  began  to  make  demands  upon  him ; 
sent  him  down  stairs  with  a  message,  or  with  a 
commission  to  bring  him  this  or  that;  and  then 
other  of  the  workmen  took  their  cue  from  their 
leader,  and  found  that  Stephen  could  save  them 
steps  and  trouble.  He  ran  up  stairs  and  down 
stairs,  back  and  forward,  and  was  conscious  of 
having  been  rather  busy,  when  he  went  back 
across  the  court  to  dinner.  Jonto  inquired  par 
ticularly  as  to  what  was  going  to  be  done  with 
him  at  the  factory;  gave  one  or  two  funny  little 


122  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

snorts  and  sniffs  when  she  heard  Stephen's  re 
port,  but  delivered  her  opinions  no  further  on  the 
subject. 

"Den  what  time  do  ye  spect  ye'll  come  to  sup 
per  ? "  she  asked  after  dinner  when  Stephen  was 
about  going. 

"  0  I  don't  know.  You  see,  Jonto,  I  must  do 
my  work  over  there  before  it  gets  dark,  for  I 
couldn't  take  a  light  in." 

u  Well,  go  'long,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  I  aint 
gwine  to  let  ye  starve,  nieder,  long's  Jonto's  in  de 
kitchen.  Clar ! — S'pos'n  1  had  Posie  to  clear  up 
arter  me,  hey  ?  " 

"  O  but  Posie's  very  different ! "  said  Stephen, 
shocked  at  this  allusion. 

"  What's  de  differ  ?  "  said  the  old  woman.  "  Til 
allow  as  one  pusson's  child  has  as  much  right  to 
git  larnin'  and  go  to  school  as  anoder  pusson's. 
De  good  Lord,  he  didn't  make  no  differ." 

"0  yes,  Jorito,  but  I  must  earn  money,"  said 
Stephen,  with  so  much  gravity  that  the  old  wo 
man  looked  at  him. 

"What  is  you  so  boun'  to  make  money  fur? 
Don't  see!  You'se  got  nuffin  to  do  wid  money, 
a  pickaninny  like  you.  De  lub  o'  money  is  de  root 
o'  all  evil,  boy." 

"Yes,  Jonto;  I  don't  love  it;  but  I  want  it.  I 
must  get  it,  if  I  can." 

"  I  neber  see  a  ten-year-old  so  hot  arter  money. 
'Taint  nat'ral.  Is  it  'cos  you've  had  so  much  o' 
it,  or  so  little  ?  " 


STEPHEN'S  WORK.  123 

"  I  never  had  any." 

Stephen  explained  himself  no  farther,  and  went 
away.  Jonto  shook  her  head  over  this  developement. 
She  could  not  understand  it.  However,  Stephen 
was  very  young;  she  purposed  in  her  heart  to  look 
after  him  and  not  let  the  service  of  Mammon  swal 
low  him  up,  if  she  could  help  it. 

At  the  factory  that  afternoon  Stephen  found  it 
not  quite  so  amusing  as  in  the  earlier  part  of 
the  day.  Things  went  on  as  they  had  done  in  the 
morning.  The  men  found  it  quite  convenient  to 
make  a  messenger  of  him ;  and  he  began  to  be  a 
little  tired  of  running  up  and  down  stairs,  especially 
when  he  looked  forward  to  his  own  work  proper, 
that  would  begin  when  theirs  ended.  Slowly  the 
hours  wore  away;  the  spring  afternoon  faded; 
the  long  factory  rooms  lost  what  brightness  the 
sunlight  had  given  them;  and  finally  the  men 
threw  down  their  tools,  drew  on  their  jackets, 
and  clattered  down  the  stairs.  Mr.  Gordon  was 
the  last. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  you  kalkilate  to  do  one  at  a 
time ;  aint  that  so  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Wall,  that's  your  best  plan,  I  giiess.  Look  here ; 
fust  you'll  gather  up  the  tools  and  put  'em  together 
some  place.  Then  you  pick  out  all  sich  bits  o' 
veneer, — as  big  as  that,  see  ? — and  lay  'em  in  one 
place.  Then  you  collect  the  glue  pots,  and  put 
them  by  themselves.  That's  the  way  to  begin. 
What  be  you  goin'  to  do  then  ?  " 


124  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Stephen  looked  at  the  piles  of  shavings  and  rub 
bish  which  encumbered  the  floor. 

"  A  broom  wouldn't  do  much  good,"  said  he.  "  If 
I  could  get  a  rake,  or  that,  I  think  it  would  be  the 
easiest." 

"That's  it!"  said  Mr.  Gordon  approvingly.  "I 
said  you  had  a  head  on  your  shoulders.  So  long 
as  you  kin  do  a  thing,  and  do  it  well,  allays  do  it 
the  easiest  way ;  that's  my  principles ;  and  a  rake'll 
be  your  best  friend.  No,  you  couldn't  sweep  it  up. 
But  what'll  you  do  with  all  this  trash  when  you've 
raked  it  up  ?  eh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.     Wont  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"Would  ef  I  knowed,  but  'pon  my  word  and 
honour  I  don't.  Ef  you  carried  'em  out,  they'd 
blow  all  over  creation,  and  I  guess  Mr.  Harden- 
brook  'ud  give  it  to  you  and  me  too.  I'll  tell  you ! 
Eake  'em  all  up  in  one  corner;  and  then  we'll  see 
whatever'®  to  be  done  with  'em.  That'll  do  for  to 
night." 

"  Please,  where  shall  I  get  a  rake,  sir  ?  " 

"Don't  keep  that  article  up  here,"  said  the  man 
with  a  laugh.  "  We've  a  good  deal  o'  variety,  but 
we  dorit  keep  agricultural  implements.  I  guess 
you'll  find  one  about  somewheres.  Good  night, 
and  good  luck  to  ye." 

Stephen  returned  the  good  night  with  a  rather 
faint  heart.  The  long  room  looked  very  big,  now 
the  men  were  all  out  of  it;  his  job  looked  tremen 
dous,  now  the  silence  reminded  him  he  was  all  alone. 
He  heard  Mr.  Gordon's  departing  footsteps,  and 


STEPHEN'S  WORK.  125 

cast  a  glance  or  two  over  the  stretch  of  floor  with 
its  litter,  and  the  rows  of  already  darkening  win 
dows;  and  for  a  minute  he  felt  downhearted.  In 
deed  so  downhearted,  that  he  felt  he  must  have 
help  somehow;  and  there  was  only  one  help  he 
could  be  sure  of.  Down  on  his  knees  went  Ste 
phen,  on  a  heap  of  chips,  and  prayed  for  courage 
and  strength,  and  help  to  do  his  work,  and  to  do  it 
thoroughly.  Only  a  minute,  for  the  light  would 
be  going;  then  he  sprang  at  what  he  had  to  do. 

There  are  some  things  that  look  larger  in  the 
distance  than  near  by;  there  are  others  that  only 
unfold  their  tedious  detail  upon  making  experience 
of  them.  Stephen's  job  was  of  the  latter  kind. 
To  sweep  a  floor  seems  a  simple  thing;  but  a  glance 
over  it  never  tells  how  many  square  yards  of  it 
there  are.  He  could  not  get  a  rake  this  evening; 
he  was  afraid  to  lose  time  in  trying,  further  than 
by  asking  Jonto. 

"  Haint  got  no  rakes,  boy,  in  dis  yer  kitchen  !  " 
she  declared  scornfully.  "  Don't  keep  none.  Whar 
is  dey?  'Clar,  dun  know.  Keckon  Mr.  Har'nbrook 
dun  know,  nieder.  What  you  want  o'  a  rake,  hey?" 

"  There  are  such  heaps  of  chips  and  everything 
on  the  floor,  Jonto.  There's  heaps !  " 

"  Reckon  dey  is.  Boy,  you  may  hev  my  oven 
rake,  ef  you  don't  go  right  off  and  break  it,  dat  is. 
Dar  it  stands,  in  de  corner." 

Stephen  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  afraid  I  should 
break  it,  Jonto.  Can  I  have  a  broom  ?  " 

"  What  good's  a  broom  wid  all  dem,  chile  ?  " 


126  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  It'll  take  up  the  dust,  you  know." 

"  Take  up  de  dust ! "  said  Jonto  laughing.  "  Keck- 
on  it  will,  right  smart !  0  it'll  take  up  de  dus' ! 
and  whar's  you  den,  when  de  dus'  is  all  a  fly  in'  ? 
It  never  was  took  up  afo';  don't  see  no  sense  into 
it.  Come  along,  den." 

"0  you  needn't  go,  Jonto;  the  stairs  aren't  easy; 
and  it's  up  two  pair." 

"  Well,  go  'long  den,  chile,  and  I's  pray  fur  ye. 
When  is  you  comin'  to  supper,  hey?  " 

"As  soon  as  I  can,"  cried  little  Stephen  as  he 
ran  across  the  court.  And  he  hurried  up  the  stairs, 
to  the  topmost  room,  which  had  less  heavy  lumber 
of  chips  and  shavings  than  the  one  beneath  it. 
Still  he  found  there  was  a  deal  to  be  done.  He 
gathered  up  the  larger  pieces  of  wood  and  scraps  of 
veneering,  and  laid  them  in  piles,  as  he  had  been  di 
rected;  he  gathered  the  glue  pots,  and  put  in  order 
the  scattered  tools.  And  then  there  was  a  great  floor 
full  of  litter.  He  took  up  that  too,  by  armfuls,  chips 
and  shavings,  as  much  as  he  could  bundle  together, 
and  carried  them  for  laborious  deposite  in  a  corner 
of  the  room.  But  he  could  take  so  little  at  once ! 
and  the  room  was  so  long  and  wide !  and  the  rub 
bish  upon  it  was  piled  so  thick !  Stephen  did  not 
stop  to  think,  nor  lose  strength  in  lamenting;  he 
toiled  away,  till  he  thought  the  broom  would  do 
better  than  his  hands,  and  he  began  to  sweep.  If 
you  ever  handled  a  broom,  you  know  that  one 
stroke  with  it  clears  but  a  little  ground;  and  if  you 
will  do  a  little  bit  of  calculation,  you  will  know 


STEPHEN'S  WORK.  127 

that  in  the  long  and  broad  area  of  a  factory  floor 
there  are  a  great  many  square  feet.  The  day,  or 
the  evening  rather,  darkened  outside,  and  within 
there  was  soon  dust  enough  flying  about  to  dim  the 
sunshine  if  it  had  been  noonday. 

Just  as  it  was  growing  fully  dark  in  the  court, 
an$  Jonto  was  beginning  to  think  of  going  after 
her  charge,  he  appeared  in  the  open  door.  But 
such  a  figure ! 

"  Well ! "  said  Jonto ;  "  ha'  you  got  t'rough  ?  What 
fur  do  de  boy  stop  dar  ?  Airit  you  comin'  in  ?  " 

"I'm  so  dirty,  Jonto;  I'm  not  fit.  Your  room's 
too  clean." 

"  Booms  neber  is  too  clean,  boy.  Come  in  and 
let's  look  at  you.  Well,"  said  Jonto  with  a  pro 
longed  survey  of  him, — "  you'se  a  dusty  boy !  How 
much  ha'  you  swallered  ?  Dat's  what  I  want  ter 
know.  How  much  has  went  inside,  hey  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell,"  said  Stephen  laughing.  "I  tried 
to  keep  my  mouth  shut,  but  I  had  to  open  it  to 
breathe.  I'm  all  over  dust,  Jonto." 

"  Go  'long  up  stars,  boy,  and  clean  yourself.  Den 
you'se  git  your  supper.  Don't  ye  want  it  bad  ?  Run 
off  now,  and  be  smart.  Dus'  don't  hurt." 

Nevertheless  Jonto  shook  her  head  once  or  twice 
while  Stephen  was  up  stairs;  giving  the  saucepan 
on  the  coals  an  extra  stir.  Stephen  came  down 
looking  comfortable  again. 

"  I  shook  my  things  out  of  the  window,"  said  he; 
"that  was  all  I  could  do;  I  hadn't  any  clean  to 
put  on." 


128  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Whar's  dey.  boy?"  Jonto  asked,  as  she  was 
pouring  out  a  savoury  mess  into  a  plate  for  him. 

"  They're  at  Whitebrook,  all  I  have  got.  And  my 
Bible  is  there  too. — 0  how  good  this  is,  Jonto !  " 

"  Don't  I  know  dat  ?  What  you  want  your  Bible 
fur,  hey?" 

Stephen  looked  up,  with  a  spoonful  stayed  on  its 
way  to  his  mouth. 

"  It  was  my  mothers  little  Bible." 

«  Oh ! — Dafs  why  you'se  so  mighty  sharp  to  want 
it,  hey?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Stephen ;  "  that's  one  reason." 

"  Got  anoder,  boy  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,  Jonto ;  of  course  I  have.  I  want  it, 
cause  I  love  it.  I  mean,  I  love  to  read  it." 

"  You  lubs  to  read  it.     Kin  you  read  it  good  ?  " 

"  I  always  read  it  to  mother." 

"Den  mebbe  you'll  read  it  to  me." 

"  0  yes,  Jonto !  " 

"We've  got  to  git  it  fus'.  'Spect  we'll  hab  to 
pussecute  ole  Mass'  Har'nbrook  till  he  goes  arter  it. 
You  eat  you'se  supper,  chile.  Mus'  hab  strengt'  for 
all  dese  yer  t'ings." 

At  this  juncture  Posie  looked  in. 

"Aint  Stephen  done  his  supper  yet?" 

"Jes'  come  in  from  de  factory.  Kint  eat  his 
supper  till  he  gits  it.  You  jes'  let  him  be,  Posie. 
He  don't  want  nuffin  o'  you  to  night." 

But  Posie  disregarded  this  intimation,  and  came 
close  up  to  the  table  where  Stephen  was  hastening 
his  meal. 


STEPHEN'S  WORK.  129 

"  What  have  you  got,  Stephen  ?  We  didn't  have 
any  of  that  for  our  supper.  What  is  it,  Jonto  ?  It's 
something  good." 

"  H'm ! "  said  Jonto  with  an  expressive  grunt, 
"  does  ye  t'ink  I'se  gwine  to  give  him  poor  vict 
uals,  when  he's  been  workin'  as  hard  as  a  horse. 
You  haint  done  nothin',  Posie;  anythin's  good  'nuff 
for  you;  but  the  folks  as  work,  dem's  got  to  eat." 

u  What's  he  been  doing?"  asked  the  little  girl, 
with  some  sympathy  and  more  curiosity. 

"Keckon,  ef  you'd  go  up  in  de  factory  flo' 
you'd  see.  You  take  your  pa  and  go  look  at  it." 

"  I  can't.     It's  dark." 

"  Den  wait  till  mornin',  and  den  go." 

"  Father  don't  let  me  go  to  the  factory." 

"  'Spect  he  don't.  Well,  Stephen  has  got  to  go 
dar.  You  ax  your  pa,  Posie,  to  tackle  up  some 
day  arid  go  to  git  Stephen's  Bible;  he's  done  left  it, 
whar  he  come  from.  He's  gwine  to  read  it  to  me." 

"  Now  you've  done ! "  said  the  little  girl  as  Ste 
phen  finished  his  last  mouthful.  "Now  Stephen, 
will  you  play  cat's  cradle?" 

"  He  won't  play  nuffin ! "  said  Jonto.  "  He's  done 
been  workin',  I  tell  you,  Posie,  and  he's  jes'  fallin' 
to  pieces  wid  sleep.  Go  'long  and  go  to  bed,  boy; 
don't  ye  see  ye  kint  hold  yer  head  up  no  mo'  ?  " 

There  was  a  hearty  tenderness  in  the  old  woman's 
voice,  which  both  children  felt,  in  different  ways. 
Stephen  gratefully  looking  up  at  her,  while  he  felt 
his  head  swimming  with  sleepiness,  pushed  back 
his  chair,  to  obey  her  counsel.  Then  stopped. 


130  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"I'm  so  sleepy — how  shall  I  wake  up  in  the 
morning  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Sleep  don't  kill  nobody.  You'll  wake  up,  fast 
'nuff,  when  you'se  got  'nuff  of  it." 

"  But,  0  Jonto,  I  cannot  wait  for  that.  I  must 
be  up  very  early." 

"  What  fur,  den? ;' 

"  'Cause  I  must  be  over  at  the  factory  to  do  the 
other  room,  before  the  men  come." 

'*  De  oder  flo'.     Haint  you  done  bofe  of  'em  ?  " 

"  No.     Only  one." 

"  To'  de  men  comes  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Dey  comes  at  seven  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  and  I  must  be  there  at  five.  I  shall  want 
all  of  that." 

"Is  you  comin'  back  like  a  walkin'  dust  heap 
into  my  clean  kitchen  agin  ?  " 

"  1  am  very  sorry,  Jonto,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I 
think,  after  I  get  the  rooms  once  clean  it  won't  be 
so  hard,  and  I  won't  be  so  bad.  I  can't  help  it." 

So  saying,  Stephen  almost  staggered  off.  Posio 
pouted  a  little. 

"  You  kin  tell  your  pa,  he's  done  got  one  day's 
good  work  out  o'  dat  boy,  anyhow,"  said  Jonto. 

"  But  I  wanted  him  to  play  with  me !  " 

"  Ay !  Dere's  some  folks  in  dis  yer  world  dat 
has  got  to  work;  and  oders  has  to  play.  Stephen, 
he  is  one  what  has  got  to  work.  I  don't  'spect 
youll  nebber  do  no  work,  Posie." 

"  I  don't  want  to." 


STEPHEN'S  WORK.  131 

"  Well,  dat's  de  differ  'tween  him  and  you.  Bress 
de  boy !  he  done  make  my  fire  dis  mornin',  out  o* 
his  own  head.  I  nebber  axed  him." 

"  What  for?  "  said  Posie. 

"What  fur?  'Spect  I  couldn't  tell  ye.  Dere's 
some  folks  what  it  aint  no  use  fur  to  tell  t'ings; 
dey's  got  no  sense." 

Posie  found  Jonto  impracticable,  and  went  away. 


CHAPTEK   XII. 

SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES. 

OTEPHEN  had  been  a  tired  little  boy  when  he 
vJ  went  to  bed;  but  the  morning  found  him  all 
made  over  again  by  the  blessed  ministry  of  sleep. 
He  took  his  cold  bath,  finding  his  pail  of  water 
ready  for  him,  and  was  nevertheless  beforehand  with 
Jonto  in  getting  down  stairs;  and  when  Jonto  did 
come,  she  found  her  fire  lighted  and  her  kettle  on. 
And,  as  she  used  to  say  with  great  pride  and  pleas 
ure  in  after  times,  she  never  had  to  kindle  that  fire 
again  for  ten  years. 

The  fire  was  kindled,  but  Stephen  was  gone. 
He  was  in  the  factory,  attacking  that  very  much 
littered  second  floor.  It  was  morning  now  and  not 
evening;  the  light  waxing  and  not  waning;  that 
made  a  wonderful  difference;  and  Stephen  was 
fresh.  So  he  took  hold  of  his  work  with  a  light 
heart.  But  the  very  first  thing  he  did,  was  to 
kneel  down  in  a  pile  of  shavings  and  pray.  It  was 
a  grand  place  to  pray!  nobody  within  possible 
hearing,  and  all  the  great  house  to  himself.  In 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  133 

the  clear,  grey,  sweet  early  ligljt,  Stephen  knelt 
there  by  himself  and  felt,  like  Elisha's  servant  when 
his  eyes  were  opened,  that  he  was  anything  but 
alone.  Or  rather,  like  Jacob  when  he  saw  the  Lord 
standing  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  and'knew  He  was 
in  that  place.  So  Stephen  knew,  when  he  rose 
from  his  knees;  and  his  work  after  that  went  lightly 
on.  Nevertheless  it  was  a  great  job  to  clear  that 
floor;  and  he  was  not  quite  through  with  it  when 
he  heard  steps  on  the  stairs.  It  was  only  Mr. 
Gordon,  for  the  first.  He  looked  about  him  with 
a  curious  glance. 

"Who's  helped  you?"  he  asked.  Stephen  an 
swered  respectfully. 

"  I  had  nobody  to  help  me,  sir.     Except — " 

"  Hey  ?     Except  what  ?  "  said  Gordon  laughing. 

"  I  meant — except  God,  sir." 

"What?  You  little  devil,  are  you  up  to  that 
a'ready  ?  " 

"Up  to  what,  sir?" 

The  child  and  the  cnan  looked  at  each  other,  in 
mutual  doubt  of  each  other's  meaning.  The  inno 
cent  frank  eyes  of  the  boy  were  however  unmis- 
takeable. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  the  man  rather 
roughly. 

"  I  meant  that,"  said  Stephen.  "  I  was  afraid  I 
should  never  get  through  in  time,  so  I  asked  God 
to  help  me,  and  I  think  he  did.  I  knew  he  would." 

"You  little  hypocrite,  how  did  you  know  he 
would?" 


134  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"Because  he  always  does,  sir,  if  people  ask 
him." 

"You  lie  there,"  said  the  other.  "I've  asked 
him  to  help  me,  and  he  never  did." 

The  two  were  still  looking  into  one  another's 
eyes,  as  if  each  were  trying  to  read  behind  what 
those  orbs  revealed;  and  Gordon  indeed  as  if  he 
would  look  the  boy  down.  But  nothing  was  fur 
ther  from  his  power. 

"  Was  it  something  right,  sir  ?  "  Stephen  asked  at 
length. 

"  Right  ?  "  said  the  other,  flaming  out,  and  with 
a  curse  which  made  Stephen  start; — "how  dare  you 
ask  me !  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  Stephen;  "only  you  said  He  had 
not  helped  you,  and  I  was  thinking  what  could  be 
the  reason." 

"Now  look  here,"  said  Gordon.  "Up  in  this 
place  I'm  master;  you  understand  ?  And  I'll  have 
none  o'  that  stuff  here.  You  shut  up,  and  keep 
shut  up,  do  you  hear  ?  I'll  have  none  of  it.  Not  a 
word.  Ef  I  catch  you  doin'  any  o'  that  preachin' 
on  anybody  but  me,  you  may  reckon  on  gettin'  a 
lickin',  ef  you  never  had  one  afore.  Do  your  work 
and  hold  your  tongue;  and  ef  you  go  agin  my  or 
ders,  you  may  ask  God  to  help  you,  fur  you'll  want 
it." 

With  which  utterance  Mr.  Gordon  stamped  up 
the  stairs  which  led  to  the  upper  floor.  Stephen 
stood  still  for  a  minute ;  things  had  suddenly  grown 
dark  around  him.  But  not  for  much  more  than  a 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  135 

minute ;  then  he  fled  to  that  refuge  which  he  had 
already  found  so  near ;  he  would  not  wait  for  things 
to  come  to  extremities  before  he  asked  for  the 
Lord's  sweet  help.  While  he  was  yet  on  his  knees 
there  came  a  thundering  question  shouted  down 
from  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  Here  you  ! — boy ! — ha'  you  done  all  this  this 
mornin'  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     I  did  that  room  last  night." 

Stephen  heard  no  more,  for  the  workmen  came 
pouring  in  and  stumping  up  stairs,  and  he  made 
haste  to  finish  what  he  had  yet  to  do.  There  were 
various  exclamations  of  admiration  and  satisfaction 
at  the  new  condition  of  things;  but  Stephen  did 
not  stay  for  compliments.  He  seized  his  broom 
and  fled  across  the  court  to  his  breakfast  and  Jonto. 

"  Is  you  gwine  back  over  dar  ?  "  she  asked  as  she 
saw  he  had  finished  his  meal. 

"  0  yes." 

"  Gwine  to  stay  dar  all  day  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.     You  know,  I  must  learn,  Jonto." 

" Learn  what?" 

"  How  to  do  all  that  work." 

Jonto  gave  one  of  her  queer  grunts,  which 
Stephen  did  not  understand,  though  it  certainly 
gave  him  the  notion  that  the  honour  of  her  ap 
proval  was  failing  to  these  arrangements.  And 
then  she  watched  him,  the  steady,  firm  step  with 
which  the  little  boy  went  across  the  yard  to  the 
door  of  the  factory.  At  another  time,  no  doubt, 
Stephen  would  have  run ;  he  was  tired  enough  now 


136  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

to  walk ;  and  the  factory  had  already  lost  some  of 
its  attractions,  besides.  Jonto  looked  after  him, 
and  when  she  turned  away,  somehow  her  eyes 
did  not  see  quite  clear. 

Stephen  was  kept  pretty  busy  all  day.  In  the 
course  of  it  he  became  better  acquainted  with  the 
character  of  the  workmen,  his  associates.  Some 
were  steady,  quiet  men,  who  talked  little,  minded 
their  business,  and  if  they  spoke  to  him  at  all  did 
it  civilly  and  in  the  way  of  business.  There  were 
others  who  made  a  good  deal  of  noise ;  Stephen  did 
not  think  they  did  the  most  work  nor  the  best  of 
it;  and  they  addressed  him  sometimes  in  the  way 
of  banter,  sometimes  in  impatience,  always  slight 
ingly  if  not  with  real  unkindness.  One  or  two 
half  grown  boys  there  were,  learning  the  trade ; 
they  looked  askance  at  the  little  new  comer,  and 
one  of  them  obligingly  shoved  a  bit  of  timber  in 
his  way  now  and  then,  when  he  could  do  it  cleverly, 
to  trip  him  up.  Stephen  avoided  the  snare,  but 
thought  it  very  superfluous  that  such  snares  should 
be  set.  You  see,  he  was  yet  a  very  simple  little 
boy. 

Gordon  during  most  of  the  morning  let  him 
alone;  and  Stephen  fetched  and  carried  for  the 
other  men  at  their  good  pleasure.  He  rather 
dreaded  Mr.  Gordon  now,  so  was  not  delighted 
when  after  dinner  the  man  called  him.  Mr.  Gordon 
wanted  to  ask  several  questions  respecting  Stephen's 
life  and  history,  which  the  boy  answered  as  briefly 
as  was  consistent  with  civility. 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  137 

"  And  what  put  it  in  your  head  to  come  here  ?  " 

"Nothing,  sir.     It  was  never  in  my  head." 

"  How  come  you  then  ?  ''  said  Gordon  roughly. 

"Mr.  Hardenbrook— " 

"Yes,  I  know  Mr.  Hardenbrook  brought  you; 
but  what  did  he  bring  you  fur  ?  that's  what  I 
want  to  know.  I  don't  want  no  more  boys  to 
look  arter." 

"  I  suppose — it  was  kindness,  sir,"  said  Stephen 
hesitating. 

"  What  ?  " 

"Kindness,  sir." 

"Look  here,"  said  Gordon  with  a  rough  word 
which  I  will  not  repeat,  "you  needn't  bring  no 
soft  sodder  here;  I  don't  believe  in  it;  have  no  use 
fur  it.  Soft  sodder  never  mended  no  leaks  yet, 
don't  ye  know  that  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  what  that  is,  sir." 

"Well  you  won't  learn  in  this  here  place;  we 
don't  keep  the  article.  What  I  want  to  know  is, 
be  you  come  here  to  learn  the  business  ? 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook  said  so,  sir." 

"  Want  to  learn  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  I  want  to  learn  anything." 

"  Do,  hey?  Wall,  the  fust  thing  I  learn  the  boys 
when  they  come  here,  is  to  drive  nails;  and  the  fust 
thing,  before  you  kin  drive  a  nail,  is  to  hold  it; 
and  you  kin  begin  to  learn  that  right  away." 

He  put  a  large  nail  in  Stephen's  fingers  and  in 
dicated  where  he  was  to  hold  it.  "No,  no,"  said  he 
laughing,  seeing  that  Stephen's  eyes  were  looking 


138  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

for  the  hammer,  "J  hold  that.  One  thing  at  a 
time.  You  must  hold  before  you  kin  drive.  I'll 
send  the  nail  home.  Hold  you  fast  there — " 

Stephen  did  not  at  all  like  this  arrangement, 
nor  believe  in  the  reasonableness  of  it.  However, 
it  was  better  not  to  offend  Mr.  Gordon  if  he  could 
help  it;  and  he  stoo.d  firm  and  held  the  nail,  while 
the  heavy  blows  of  Mr.  Gordon's  hammer  sent  it 
home. 

"There !  "  said  .the  latter.     "  You  see." 

"Yes  sir,"  said  Stephen,  "but  if  you  didn't  hit 
true,  my  fingers  would  get  it." 

"That's  it,"  said  Gordon  lightly;  "sometimes  my 
fingers  dont  hit  true.  I  just  wanted  you  to  know 
that  little  fact;  so  you'll  take  care." 

"How  am  I  to  take  care,  sir?" 

"  Mind  what  I  say  to  you  !  "  returned  the  other 
fiercely.  " It's  a  weakness  o'  mine;  whenever  folks 
don't  do  what  I  tells  'em,  my  hammer  don't  come 
down  true;  and  then  somebody,  you  bet,  gits  his 
fingers  mashed.  Now  will  you  mind  ?  " 

"  I  will  mind  you,  sir,  in  everything  I  can." 

"  All  right,"  said  Gordon.  "  When  I  see  you  kint, 
I'll  make  you;  easy.  Now  go  off  and  mind  your 
business." 

It  was  all  that  passed  that  day  between  them. 
Stephen  got  a  lesson  in  the  use  of  the  saw,  from 
one  of  the  quiet  men  in  the  first  room.  His  name 
was  Nutts.  He  instructed  the  boy  how  to  hold  the 
tool,  how  to  keep  the  piece  of  wood  firm,  and  how 
to  move  the  edge  of  the  saw  up  and  down  and 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  139 

keep  the  cut  straight,  Stephen  was  greatly  in 
terested  and  very  much  pleased,  especially  as  the 
man  said  he  did  very  well.  Then  Stephen  asked 
if  he  might  have  a  couple  of  bits  of  thin  wood  that 
were  lying  on  the  floor;  and  having  got  them,  he 
borrowed  a  knife  from  the  tool  board  and  spent 
his  leisure  time  delightfully.  Only  Mr.  Gordon 
troubled  him,  or  rather  the  thought  of  Mr.  Gordon ; 
for  the  man  himself  he  did  not  see. 

When  he  was  at  his  late  supper  in  the  evening, 
Posie  put  her  head  in  at  the  door;  and  seeing  Ste 
phen,  she  came  in. 

u  What  makes  you  so  late?  "  she  asked. 

"Folks  has  to  get  deir  work  done,  Posie,  afore 
dey  kin  rest,"  said  Jonto. 

"  But  Stephen  hasn't  got  any  work  to  do." 

"  He's  done  got  nuffin  but  work.  What  makes 
you  t'ink  he's  eatin'  his  supper  at  dis  yere  time  o' 
day,  ef  he  had  any  oder  time  ?  He's  workin'  arter 
all  de  rest  o'  de  folks  is  done  got  home." 

"What  for?" 

"Dun  know,"  said  Jonto  shortly.  "Dere's  a 
many  t'ings  in  dis  world  what  I  don'  know,  and 
{lis  yere's  one  mo'." 

"Are  you  tired,  Stephen?"  said  the  little  girl 
wistfully. 

"  I  don't  mind,  Posie." 

"0'  course  he's  tired!"  said  Jonto.  "Why 
wouldn't  he  be  tired?  arter  putting  all  dat  barn 
o'  a  place  in  order  fur  dat  Gordon  feller ! " 

"Look  here,   Posie,"  said  Stephen,   cutting   his 


140  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

supper  short,  I  fear,  and  drawing  into  view  the 
two  pieces  of  wood  on  which  he  had  been  whittling 
that  afternoon.  He  displayed  them  with  great  sat 
isfaction  ;  but  Posie  was  unenlightened. 

"  I  see,"  said  she.     "  What's  that  for  ?  " 

"Something — "  said  Stephen.  "It's  something 
for  you." 

"  I  can't  do  anything  with  that." 

"  No,  they  are  not  finished  yet." 

"  Finished  ?     What  are  they  for  ?  " 

"If  I  can  get  a  chance  to  finish  them,"  said 
Stephen,  handling  his  bits  of  wood  lovingly.  "  I'll 
tell  you,  Posie;  they're  ships." 

"Ships?" 

"Yes,  they  will  be  ships.  O  they're  not  finished 
yet;  they've  got  to  have  masts,  you  know;  and 
sails;  and  then  you'll  see  how  they'll  go." 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  brook." 

Posie  took  fire  immediately.  "0  are  those  to 
sail  on  the  brook ! "  she  exdaimed  in  delight,  and 
nestling  up  to  Stephen.  "Will  you  finish  them, 
Stephen?" 

"  Just  as  quick  as  ever  I  can." 

"And  then  shall  we  go  and  sail  them  on  the 
brook  ?  0  Stephen,  shall  we  go  to-morrow  ?  " 

"They  aren't  done  yet,"  said  Stephen  with  a 
wise  shake  of  his  head.  "  I  must  get  these  masts 
put  in,  and  these  bows  a  little  better  shaped  first." 

"  What's  '  bows '  ?  " 

"This  end  of  the  boat;  see?  these  rounded  off 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  141 

points;  those  are  the  bows;  and  this  square  end  is 
the  stern.  I'll  finish  'em." 

"And  when  shall  we  go,  Stephen?" 

"  The  very  first  day  we  can ;  but  I  don't  know, 
Posie.  You  see,  I've  got  work  now." 

The  little  girl  edged  herself  upon  Stephen's  chair, 
so  that  the  two  children  occupied  it  together;  Posie 
laying  one  hand  confidingly  on  Stephen's  shoulder 
and  bringing  her  sunny  curls  into  close  neighbour 
hood  of  his  cheeks. 

"But  Stephen,  I  want  to  go  to-morrow!"  she 
said  in  tones  half  coaxing  and  half  fretting. 

"As  soon 'as  we  can,  Posie,"  said  Stephen;  "but 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  to-morrow." 

"Why?" 

"  I  shall  not  have  time." 

"  I'll  ask  father  if  you  mayn't." 

Posie  slipped  away,  even  as  she  spoke,  and  went 
to  attack  her  father.  She  begged  for  a  holiday  for 
Stephen.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  objected,  that  Stephen 
had  only  just  begun  to  work,  and  that  a  holiday 
would  be  premature.  Posie  pleaded.  Mrs.  Harden 
brook  put  in  her  word,  in  the  form  of  a  request 
that  Mr.  Hardenbrook  would  keep  Stephen  at  work; 
it  was  the  best  thing  for  him.  But  Posie  burst 
into  tears.  They  were  going  to  the  brook  to  sail 
boats,  she  sobbed,  and  she  wanted  to  go  to-morrow. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  don't  let 
them  go  to  the  brook !  Posie  will  certainly  get  in 
and  be  drowned.  Do  keep  them  away  from  the 
brook.  I  wish  you'd  send  that  boy  quite  away; 


142  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

there'll  be  no  doing  anything  with  Posie  as  long 
as  he's  about." 

"My  dear,  the  brook  is  not  deep  enough  to  hurt 
them,  if  they  got  in." 

"  Hurt  their  stockings  and  shoes,  I  suppose,  or  at 
least  Posie's;  but  you  think  nothing  of  that,  Mr. 
Hardenbrook.  If  you  knew  how  hard  it  is  to 
keep  her  in  order  any  way !  " — 

"  Pa,  Stephen's  making  me  some  boats." 

"Well,  when  they  are  done  we  will  see." 

"  To-morrow  ?  " 

"It  is  going  to  rain  to-morrow." 

"  0  no,  pa  !  " 

"  0  yes,  Posie." 

"Then  next  day?" 

"Yes,  for  ought  I  care.  Next  day  is  Sunday; 
Stephen  will  have  nothing  to  do.  You  can  go  in 
the  afternoon,  I  dare  say,  if  you  are  good,  and  he 
is  good." 

So  Posie  ran  back  to  the  kitchen ;  but  the  tired 
little  boy  had  not  waited  for  her  and  was  already 
gone  to  bed. 

The  next  day  it  did  rain.  All  day  it  rained.  It 
made  no  difference  to  Stephen's  life,  except  that  he 
ran  across  the  court  when  he  had  to  go.  In  the 
factory  things  went  on  as  usual.  He  used  the  saw 
a  little  more,  and  waited  upon  the  men  as  before; 
the  morning  and  evening  putting  in  order,  though 
the  floors  were  as  big  as  ever,  was  a  much  lighter 
job.  Stephen  got  chances  also  to  work  on  his 
boats.  At  one  of  these  times  he  was  sitting  on 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  143 

the  floor  near  a  bench  where  one  of  the  apprentice 
boys  was  working;  a  rather  dull-looking  fellow; 
his  name  was  Wilkins.  Stephen  was  quite  lost  in 
the  interest  of  shaping  his  bows,  when  his  neigh 
bour  addressed  him,  in  a  rather  subdued  voice,  ask 
ing  what  he  was  doing.  Stephen  told  him. 

"  Boats !  "  said  the  other.  "  Much  good  you'll 
get  of  'em,  I  expect." 

"Why  not?  "  said  Stephen. 

"If  Gordon  finds  out  what  you're  doin',  he'll 
send  'em  flyin';  you  see  if  he  don't." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Stephen,  looking  up  in  disagreeable 
surprise.  "Mr.  Nutts  said  I  might  have  'em." 

"  Didn't  say  you  might  go  and  sail  'em,  did  he  ? 
I  guess  he  didn't." 

"  I  didn't  ask  him." 

"  Best  not." 

"  Mr.  Gordon  don't  care  what  I  do  when  I  aint 
here,"  said  Stephen,  cutting  away  again. 

"  What  time  aint  you  here,  though  ?  "  said  Wil 
kins. 

Stephen  looked  up  again,  and  his  knife  paused. 

"  Doii'tyou  have  Saturday  afternoon,  sometimes?" 
he  asked  at  length. 

"  Aint  no  sich  a  time.  Never  heerd  o'  no  Satur 
day  arternoons  here;  it's  all  Monday  mornin's,  the 
hull  lot.  Sunday's  the  only  day  that  wheel  down 
yonder  aint  goin'  round ;  and  all  the  rest  of  us  is  at 
the  tail  o'  that  wheel,  you'll  find." 

"  But  Mr.  Hardenbrook  is  good — "  said  Stephen. 

"  That  aint  nothin'.     You  don'  know  much  yet. 


144  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  may  be  as  good  as  pie — dessay 
he  is; — somebody  else  aint." 

"Do  you  do  nothing  but  work?"  asked  little 
Stephen. 

"  'Cept  Sundays.  There  aint  no  gettin'  away  from 
Gordon ;  he's  as  tight  as  a  vice ;  and  he  don't  care. 
Won't  catch  him  workin'  here  alone  while  the  rest 
o'  the  folks  is  gone  to  play  Saturday  arternoons." 

"  When  do  you  play,  then  ?  " 

"Don't  make  no  calkilations  for  play.  I  sleep 
Sundays — without  I  goes  fur  a  spree." 

"  Sundays  !  "  said  Stephen.     The  other  nodded. 

"  What's  a  '  spree '  ?  " 

"Don't  you  know?  It's  somethin'  jolly.  Go 
'long  with  me  to-morrer,  and  I'll  shew  you.  Will 
you?" 

The  boy,  who  had  been  bending  over  his  work, 
looked  up  no\y  to  see  how  Stephen  took  this  pro 
position.  Stephen  looked  at  him ;  the  eyes  met. 

"But  I  must  go  to  church  Sunday,"  said  the 
smaller  boy. 

"  No,  you  mustn't.  Nobody  goes.  You  can't  go, 
neither;  the  church  is  six  miles  off,  down  to  Deep- 
ford." 

"  Six  miles !  "  said  Stephen.  "  Isn't  there  a  church 
nearer  ?  "  j. 

"No  ! — or  if  there  is,  /  never  saw  the  inside  of 
it.  Say  ! — will  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  can't  go  six  miles  to  church.  Does  Mr.  Har 
denbrook  go  there  ?  " 

"  /  don'  know,  and  don't  care.     Say ! — do  you 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  145 

hear?  will  you  go  along  with  me?  We'll  have  a 
jolly  time.  You're  a  little  shaver,  but  I  like  you, 
somehow ;  and  I'll  be  your  friend,  if  you  say  so." 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  my  friend." 

"Well,  you're  like  to  want  'em,"  said  the  other. 
"You're  the  littlest  feller  here,  and  the  littlest  allays 
gets  put  upon.  You'll  be  apt  to  catch  it,  now  and 
then;  and  Gordon  hits  hard,  he  does.  Well,  will 
you  go  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  ?  Don't  you  know  the  command 
ment  ?  " 

"What  commandment?  There  aint  no  orders 
vvhatsomever  about  Sunday.  It's  only,  be  sharp  here 
Monday  morriin'.  Nobody  cares  what  you  do  be 
tween  whiles." 

"Yes,  but  there  you're  mistaken,"  said  Stephen 
quietly. 

"Be  I ?  I'd  like  you  to  tell  me  how.  Has  Har- 
denbrook  said  anythin'  ?  " 

"  No." 

"What  then?" 

"  Did  you  never  read  in  the  Bible?  " 

"  Can't  read  anyhow.  Never  could.  The  Bible  ? 
you  mean  that's  the  preacher's  book  ?  " 

"It's  everybody's  book,"  said  Stephen.  "I've 
got  one." 

"  What  good  is  it  to  you  ?  " 

"0  a  great  deal,"  said  Stephen;  "'cos  it  tells  me 
what's  right,  you  know." 

"  So  you're  wiser  than  other  folks !  "  said  the  other 
scornfully;  "and  then  you  tells  them,  I  s'pose?" 


146  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"I  can  tell  them,  if  I  know  myself,"  said  Stephen 
innocently. 

"  0'  course !  Now  you're  a  goin'  to  tell  me,  aint 
you  ?  That's  your  sort !  I  didn't  know  it." 

"  What  sort  ?  " 

"  0,  wise  folks.  Wiser  than  nobody  else.  The 
tobaccer  they  smokes  aint  for  nobody  else's  pipe." 

"  Smoke  ?     I  don't  smoke,"  said  Stephen. 

"  0  don't  you,  though !  I  guess  it's  because  you 
can't  buy  tobaccer,  aint  it  ?  " 

Stephen  was  utterly  bewildered,  but  feeling  his 
companion's  tone  to  be  uncomplimentary,  he  was 
silent.  Cutting  away  happily  at  the  bows  of  his 
boat,  which  it  was  very  difficult  to  make  symmetri 
cal,  he  had  half  forgotten  the  conversation;  when 
Wilkins  broke  out  again. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  about  to-morrer  ?  " 

Stephen  staid  h'is  hand  and  looked  up.  "  Sun 
day  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Ay,  of  course  it's  Sunday ;  it's  the  only  cursed 
day  we've  got.  Be  you  goin'  with  me  V  " 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  I  choose !  Somewhere  for  fun. 
Don't  you  know  what  fun  is  ?  " 

"  I  can't  go  Sunday,"  Stephen  said  resolutely. 

"  What's  to  hinder'?     Mother  don't  like  it  ?  " 

The  word,  not  meant  so,  was  strength  to  Stephen. 
He  answered  very  quietly,  that  she  did  not  like  it. 

"  She  needn't  know." 

"She  can't  know,  I  s'pose,"  said  Stephen  with 
grave  tenderness,  "for  she  aint  here;  but  T  don't 


SHEEP  AMONG  WOLVES.  147 

care.     I  won't  do  what  she  didn't  like  me  to  do. 

And  besides,  Wilkins,  there's  the  commandment." 
"What  commandment?    Orders,  do  you  mean?" 
"  Yes.    Not  Mr.  Hardenbrook's.    It's  God's  orders. 

I'll  read  it  to  you  when  I  get  my  Bible." 

But  the  boy  bestowed  such  evil  words  upon  the 

commandment,  the  book  in  which  it  was  written, 

and  the  little  boy  who  professed  to  obey  it,  that 

Stephen  was   horrified  and  frightened,   and  fled 

away. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SUNDAY. 

OTEPHEN  slept  a  sweet  night's  sleep  at  the  end 
O  of  his  week's  work.  To-morrow,  one  blessed 
morning  in  the  seven,  there  would  be  no  great 
factory  floor  to  clean  out;  to-morrow  all  day  no 
noise  of  the  mill-wheel,  nor  sound  of  sawing,  nor 
blows  of  hammer,  nor  hearing  of  Mr.  Gordon's 
voice.  I  can  never  tell  how  peacefully  the  little 
boy  slept,  nor  how  happy  his  waking  was,  with 
the  previous  sense  of  quiet  and  immunity.  How 
ever,  after  enjoying  it  a  minute  he  jumped  up 
briskly,  took  his  bath,  shook  his  coat  and  trowsers 
as  free  from  dust  as  he  could;  and  went  down. 
He  had  the  fire  kindled  before  Jonto  made  her 
appearance.  And  then  he  sat  by  and  watched  her 
operations,  with  intense  satisfaction,  while  she  was 
getting  breakfast. 

.  "What  you  gwine  to  do  fur  your  clo'se?"  said 
she  meanwhile.  "  Clar !  spects  I'll  hab  to  start 
off  myself  and  fetch  'em.  Don'  know  what  is  Mr. 
Har'nbrook  finking  ob.  Folks  kint  live  widout 
t'ings  to  put  on  'em, — not  in  dis  yere  country. 
(148) 


SUNDAY.  149 

Have  heerd  o'  oder  countries  whar  dey  do;  mus' 
be  mighty  convenient !  " 

"  I  dare  say  he'll  send  for  them  and  my  Bible 
this  week,"  said  Stephen  contentedly. 

"Don't  dar  say  nuffin,"  returned  Jonto.  "Mr. 
Har'nbrook,  he  means  all  good,  but  he  don't  allays 
jus'  'member.  Hab  to  see  to  it  myself,  I  do  spects. 
What  is  you  gwine  to  do  to-day,  hey  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell,  Jonto.  I  wish  I  had  my  Bible. 
Jonto,  does  nobody  go  to  church  here  ?  " 

"  What  makes  you  ax  dat  ?  " 

"Somebody  told  me  the  church  was  six  miles 
jff?" 

"  Who  telled  you  dat  ?  " 

"One  of  the  boys." 

"What  boy  was  dat?" 

"  His  name  is  Wilkins." 

Jonto  grunted.  "  Wish  Mr.  Har'nbrook  wouldri'* 
nab  none  o'  dat  sort  about! — but  dar!  spects  I 
wants  de  worl'  made  over  new;  and  de  time  aint 
•us'  come.  You  shut  up  you'se  ears,  honey,  and 
don't  hear  what  dat  kin'  o'  boy  speaks.  Dey  is  cer 
tainly  tedious ! " 

She  went  on  with  her  nice  cookery  meanwhile ;  il 
was  very  nice,  and  deft,  and  pleasant  to  see,  or  Ste 
phen  thought  so.  She  made  coffee  in  a  great  tin 
coffee  pot,  which  soon  distributed  an  excellent  smell 
through  the  room;  and  she  had  one  little  skillet  of 
eggs  and  another  of  potatoes  in  front  of  the  fire 
and  presently  Stephen  was  so  regaled  through  the 
sense  of  smell  that  he  could  afford  to  wait  patiently 


150  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

for  his  stomach's  satisfaction.  However,  he  had 
not  to  wait  long.  Jonto  dished  up  her  messes  and 
carried  the  dishes  in  for  the  family  meal ;  and  then 
on  returning  it  was  found  that  she  had  left  a  little 
of  everything  for  Stephen,  which  she  proceeded  to 
Berve  up  and  set  before  him.  Not  for  herself  like 
wise;  she  preferred  to  wait;  but  she  chose  to  give 
Stephen  his  breakfast  in  this  way ;  and  a  very  good 
breakfast  it  was. 

She  had  gone  in  to  carry  something  more  to 
the  parlour,  and  Stephen  was  eating  his  breakfast 
alone,  when  the  door  was  pushed  a  little  way  open, 
according  to  Posie's  wont,  and  Posie  herself  came 
in.  She  was  a  vision  of  delight  to  the  little  boy, 
in  her  blue  stuff  dress  and  white  apron.  The 
apron  was  very  white,  and  ruffled,  and  dainty; 
it  almost  covered  up  the  blue  frock;  and  Posie's 
delicate  face  and  neck  were  gracefully  set  off  by 
it.  Poor  Stephen  was  as  neat  as  he  could  make 
himself;  but  to  his  apprehension  there  was  a  wide 
distance  between  his  condition  and  hers,  and  he 
worshipped  her  accordingly. 

"  What  have  you  got  for  your  breakfast  ?  "  wa? 
her  first  unprefaced  question. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Stephen.  "  This  is  potato 
— I  don't  know  what  the  other  is." 

"  May  I  have  some  ?  " 

And  to  Stephen's  great  admiration,  scarce  wait 
ing  for  his  answer,  Posie  skipped  to  the  cupboard, 
helped  herself  to  a  fork,  and  without  more  ado 
applied  it  to  the  stores  on  Stephen's  plate,  which 


SUNDAY.  151 

sooth  to  say  were  abundant.  So  Jonto  found  them 
a  few  minutes  later,  both  eating  from  the  same  dish 
in  great  an?Ity. 

"  Well  Posie,  aint  dat  new  manners  ?  "  she  said 
surveying  them.  "Aint  I  done  tote  your  break 
fast  in  de  house,  and  now  you  mus'  come  and  eat 
anoder  pusson's ! " 

"There's  enough,  Jonto.  Give  me  some  milk. 
What's  he  got?  Coffee!  Then  I'll  have  some 
coffee !  Give  me  a  cup  of  coffee  too,  Jonto." 

"  Now  Miss  Posie,  you  nebber  has  no  coffee ;  you 
knows  dat." 

"  Stephen  has  got  some." 

"  Stephen  is  hard  to  work,  dese  yer  days.  He's 
doin'  a  man's  work,  he  is;  he's  bouii'  to  hab  coffee 
fur  Sunday  mornin'.  You  aint  doin'  nuffin,  you 
pickaninny,'  cept  gittin'  in  de  way.  You  sa'll  hab 
a  glass  o'  milk;  but  I  wonder  what  Miss'  Har'n- 
brook  '11  say  to  us." 

About  which  Posie  troubled  herself  not  at  all. 
The  two  children  made  a  delightful  meal,  Jonto 
supplementing  the  materials,  to  make  sure  that 
Stephen  got  enough.  At  last  the  milk  had  dis 
appeared  from  the  tumbler,  and  the  sweet  cup  of 
coffee  had  been  sipped  to  the  end.  The  plates 
were  empty. 

"Now  Stephen,"  said  Posie,  while  Jonto  was 
gone  into  the  house,  "you've  got  nothing  to  do 
to-day,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  factory." 

"  Then  shall  we  go  and  sail  boats  ?  " 


152  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  0  but  it's  Sunday." 

"Yes,  I  know,  and  you've  got  nothing  to  do. 
Father  said  we  might  go  as  soon  as  the  dew  was 
off.  Is  the  dew  off  now  ?  " 

"  I  guess  not." 

"When  will  it  be  off?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I'll  tell  you,  Posie ;  if  I  had  my 
Bible  we  might  go  somewhere  and  sit  down  and 
read." 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know;  some  nice  place,  where  we  could 
be  by  ourselves." 

"And  then  sail  boats,  when  the  dew  is  off?" 

"  We'll  sail  boats  the  first  minute  we  can,"  said 
Stephen  evasively. 

"  What  do  you  want  a  Bible  for  ?  Is  the  Bible 
nice?" 

"  0  yes !  don't  you  know  that  ?  It  is  full  of 
things — beautiful  things.  I'll  read  them  to  you." 

"Will  any  Bible  do?" 

"  0  yes,  but  I  haven't  got  any  other.  I  haven't 
got  that,  either.  I  left  it  with  my  clothes." 

Posie  ran  away.  After  a  little  interval  she  came 
back,  dragging  alter  her  on  the  floor  a  bundle  done 
up  in  newspaper,  which  was  not  too  large  a  bun 
dle  for  even  her  little  hands  to  transport  so.  She 
dragged  it  in  triumphantly. 

"  Here  it  is,  Stephen !  "  she  cried.  "  Here  are  all 
your  things.  Haven't  you  got  any  more  ?  These 
aint  much.  Father  went  and  got  'em  for  you 
yesterday.  Now  see  what's  in  it." 


SUNDAY.  153 

Which  Stephen  was  not  slow  to  do.  A  few 
pieces  of  underwear;  a  suit  of  much  worn  every 
day  garments;  an  old  pair  of  shoes;  two  or  three 
pairs  of  socks;  and  a  little  worn  Bible.  Stephen 
pounced  upon  this  last  with  a  cry  of  joy,  and 
opened  it,  turning  the  leaves  in  various  places. 

"Is  that  all  you've  got?"  Posie  inquired  dis 
paragingly. 

"  Here  is  my  Bible ! "  was  Stephen's  answer. 
"  I'm  so  glad !  " 

"  But  I  say,  Stephen ! — is  that  all  your  things  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  got  any  more,"  he  confessed. 

"Why  don't  you  have  some  more?  these  are 
old." 

"Yes,  I  know  it.  Now  Posie,  we'll  go  some 
where.  Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Let's  go  see.  We  can't  go  to  the  meadow  till 
the  dew  is  off.  Come  !  " 

She  took  his  hand  and  led  him  out  of  the  house, 
into  the  courtyard;  and  shewed  him  the  various 
outhouses ;  stables,  granary,  poultry-house  and  barn. 
The  barn  was  partly  filled  with  hay,  and  Ste 
phen  proposed  climbing  up  on  the  mows.  There 
Posie  had  never  been,  and  the  adventure  was  de 
lightful.  With  some  little  difficulty  they  climbed 
up,  Stephen  helping  the  little  girl;  and  found 
themselves  at  the  top  in  a  fragrant  and  luxurious 
region  of  softness  and  solitude.  It  met  Posie's  un 
qualified  approval. 

"  This  is  nice ! "  she  said,  smoothing  out  her 
dress,  and  settling  herself  to  her  mind.  "  I  never 


154  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

was  up  here  before.  There'll  nobody  find  us  here. 
Aint  it  nice  ?  " 

Stephen  assented,  rolling  over  in  the  hay  for 
very  delight.  Posie  wanted  to  do  the  same,  but 
was  afraid  for  her  apron.  So  she  called  Stephen 
to  order. 

"Come!"  said  she.  "Now  what  are  we  going 
to  do?" 

"  Read,"  said  Stephen.     "  And  we  can  talk." 

"  What  about  ?  I  don't  know  anything  to  talk 
about.  I  want  to  go  and  sail  boats." 

"But  we  can't  to-day." 

"Yes  we  can.     Father  said  we  could." 

"But  you  see,  Posie,  it  is  Sunday,"  said  Stephen, 
feeling  himself  in  a  difficult  position.  "  It  is  the 
Lord's  day." 

"No,  'taint,"  returned  Posie.  "It's  your  day. 
Pa  said  it  was." 

"  He  meant,  I  could  do  what  I  liked ;  there  was 
no  work  in  the  factory." 

"And  I  say!  I  want  to  sail  boats;  as  soon  as 
the  grass  is  dry.  I  guess  it's  dry  now." 

"  It  won't  be  dry  in  ever  so  long.  And  I  want 
to  tell  you,  Posie.  You  don't  understand.  What's 
the  reason  there's  no  work  in  the  factory  ?  " 

"'Cause  pa  lets  'era  off." 

"  Why  does  he  let  'em  off  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"I  don'  know." 

"  That's  the  reason.  Because  it's  the  Lord's  day, 
and  he  says  people  mustn't  work." 

"Why  not?" 


SUNDAY.  155 

"  'Cause  it's  his  day.     He  says  it  is  his  day." 

"What  for?" 

"So  they  may  have  time  to  read  the  Bible,  I 
guess." 

"  I  don't  want  to  read  the  Bible.  Pa  and  ma 
don't  read  it." 

"  But  then,"  said  Stephen,  "  how  will  you  know 
how  to  please  God  ?  " 

He  had  rolled  himself  over  on  the  hay,  so  that 
he  lay  on  his  breast  before  Posie  looking  up  at  her. 
They  were  both  growing  earnest. 

"Why  must  I  please  him?"  said  Posie. 

"0  Posie!  Because  he  is  good,  and  he  loves  us; 
and  Jesus  died  to  save  us ;  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"Who's  he?"  said  Posie.  "And  what  did  he 
die  for?" 

"To  save  us,"  Stephen  repeated;  "or  else  we 
could  never  go  to  heaven." 

"Where's  heaven?" 

"0  that's  where  God  is;  and  it  is  such  a  beauti 
ful  place!  and  the  angels  are  there,  who  always  do 
just  whatever  God  tells  them;  and  all  the  good 
people  will  be  there,  who  have  loved  Jesus  and 
obeyed  him;  and  there  is  no  trouble,  and  no 
dying,  and  no  crying,  and  nothing  worries  any 
body  any  more;  but  they  all  love  each  other;  and 
they  wear  white  robes  and  crowns  on  their  heads." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"The  Bible  tells  about  it." 

"How  do  you  know  it  aint  a  story?" 

"'Cause  Jesus  said  so;  and  he  wouldn't  have  the 


156  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

least  little  bit  of  story-telling;  not  the  least  little 
bit!  He  is  the  Truth." 

Posie  looked  at  Stephen,  considering. 

"Was  that  why  you  wouldn't  tell  a  story  the 
other  day  ?  " 

"When?" 

"  When  I  took  you  in  to  see  pa  and  ma,  and  ma 
asked  how  you  got  your  feet  wet  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Ma  didn't  like  you  after  that." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Stephen. 

"  She  thought  you  had  got  me  into  mischief." 

Stephen  was  chivalrously  silent. 

"/told  a  story  that  time,"  Posie  went  on. 

"  Yes,  I  know.     I  was  very  sorry." 

"  Why  were  you  sorry  ?  " 

"  'Cause  it  aint  right,  Posie ;  and  God  don't  love 
the  people  that  do  so." 

"  Don't  he  love  me  ?  " 

"  He  can't,  if  you  tell  stories." 

"I  do  sometimes.  Just  to  save  worry,  you 
know,"  said  Posie  with  an  inexpressible  shrug  of 
her  shoulders. 

"  Don't  do  it  any  more  !  "  said  Stephen  very  ear 
nestly. 

"Why  not?" 

"'Cause  God's  children  don't  tell  stories.  Not 
ever.  Not  if  they  were  to  be  burned  in  the  fire; 
they  wouldn't  tell  a  story  to  save  themselves." 

"  I  would.     I'd  tell  three." 

"Then  you  couldn't  be  one  of  His  children." 


SUNDAY.  157 

"  What  then  ?     Wouldn't  you  love  me  ?  " 

"I?"  said  Stephen.  "0  yes!  I  will  love  you 
dearly  always." 

"  Then  I  don't  care  !  " 

"Bat  you  must  care.  0  and  you  would  care, 
Posie,  if  you  saw  the  others  going  into  the  beauti 
ful  city,  and  you  couldn't  go  too.  You  would  care 
then." 

"  You  would  take  me  in  along  with  you,"  said 
Posie  confidently. 

"  But  I  couldn't.  See, — here  is  a  list  of  the  peo 
ple  that  cannot  go  in,  and  the  last  of  the  list  is, 
'whosoever  loveth  and  maketh  a  lie.'  They  can 
not  go  in;  the  King  will  not  let  them." 

"  Who  is  the  King  ?  " 

"Jesus." 

"  You  said  he  was  dead." 

"  Yes,  but  he  lived  again.  He  rose  up,  and  went 
back  to  heaven,  and  there  he  is  now;  and  he  knows 
when  anybody  tells  a  lie,  or  breaks  the  Sabbath." 

Again  Posie  demanded  explanation,  and  Stephen 
gave  it;  ending  by  reading  to  her  the  ten  com 
mandments,  and  the  story  of  the  time  and  the  man 
ner  of  their  being  given.  Posie's  eyes  grew  wide 
with  interest  and  sober  with  awe.  The  two  children 
quite  forgot  how  time  passed.  It  was  after  a  long 
course  of  eager  reading  and  listening  and  com 
menting  and  discursive  reasoning,  that  Posie,  feel 
ing  tired,  drew  herself  up  and  asked, 

"  Stephen,  don't  you  think  the  dew  is  dried  up  by 
now?" 


158  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  guess  it  is,  Posie." 

"  Then  let  us  go  down  to  the  meadow ! "  said  the 
little  girl  with  an  accent  of  relief. 

44  But  I  can't  sail  boats,  Posie  ! " 

"  But  I  want  you  to,  Stephen  1 " 

"Some  other  time  I  will." 

"  But  I  want  to  sail  'em  now! "  Posie  was  almost 
crying.  "I  think  you're  very  stupid,  Stephen." 

"But  it's  the  Lord's  day,  Posie,"  the  little  boy 
said  gently. 

"It  aint!" 

"  0  yes,  it  is.  Don't  you  remember  ? — '  the  sev 
enth  is  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord  thy  God;  in  it  thou 
shalt  not  do  any  manner  of  work ' — " 

"Sailing  boats  aint  work;  it's  play!"  remon 
strated  Posie. 

"  Tisn't  play  for  Sunday,  Posie." 

"  Pa  does  what  he  likes  on  Sunday." 

"Yes,  but  I  love  Jesus,"  said  the  little  boy;  giv 
ing  therewith  an  unanswerable  argument,  which 
Posie  could  not  well  get  round. 

"Then  you  don't  love  me ! "  she  said  pouting. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  love  you  better  than  anything 
else  in  the  whole  world. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Posie  wonderingly. 

"  Yes  indeed.  1  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  I 
will  always  love  you  dearly." 

"  Then  why  won't  you  do  what  I  want  to  do  ?  " 

" Because  I  can't,  Posie.  I  cant.  I  mustn't  do 
what  God  tells  me  not  to  do;  and  you  mustn't 
either.*' 


SUNDAY.  159 

"  Why  mustn't  I  ?  " 

"Because,  if  you  do,  Jesus  will  not  love  you;  and 
when  he  comes  he  will  say  you  do  not  belong  to  him." 

"  Will  he  say  you  belong  to  him  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  do  belong  to  him,"  said  Stephen 
simply. 

"  When  is  he  coming  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know;  but  he  said  he  would  come; 
some  time  when  people  are  not  expecting  him." 

"  What  is  he  coming  for  ?  " 

"  0  to  make  everything  good  and  beautiful,  and 
everybody  happy." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  can  make  everybody  good," 
said  Posie.  "  There's  our  Tim — " 

"The  people  that  won't  let  him  make  them  good, 
he  will  send  away,  out  of  his  kingdom.  He  will  not 
have  them  with  him." 

"Will  he?" 

"  He  said  so." 

"  Where  will  they  go  ?  " 

"They  will  go  to  be  with  the  devil." 

"Is  that  what  pa  means  when  he  says,  'devil 
take  you  ! ' — ?  " 

"  0  don't !  "  said  Stephen.  "  It  is  dreadful  to  say 
that." 

"Why?" 

"  Why  because.  Just  think,  Posie ;  it  means  to 
have  Jesus  send  them  away;  and  then  they  can 
never,  never  come  back  to  him." 


160  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Stephen  looked  so  eager  and  so  awed  that  Posie 
was  greatly  impressed.  She  was  silent  for  a  small 
moment,  and  heaved  a  long  breath  of  doubt  and 
excitement  before  she  spoke  again. 

"  Is  that  why  you  won't  sail  boats  to-day,  Ste 
phen  ?  You  are  afraid  you  will  make  God  angry  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  is  angry  with  the  people  who  disobey 
him ;  but  that  isn't  the  reason,  Posie.  I  don't  want 
to  do  it,  because  I  love  him." 

"  How  can  you  love  him  ?  "  said  Posie.  "I  don't 
love  him." 

"0  that's  because  you  don't  know.  Let's  read 
some  more." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  stay  here  any  longer.  I'm 
tired.  I  want  to  play." 

"Then  suppose  we  go  somewhere  and  play 
church." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Why  we  will  play  church.  I  will  read,  and  you 
will  sing — we  will  both  sing  hymns;  and  I  will 
pray,  and  then  I  will  preach." 

"I  should  like  that.     Where  shall  we  go ? " 

"Some  nice  place  where  nobody  will  hear  us. 
Let  us  go  and  look.  We  might  go  down  in  the 
meadow — quite  away.  I've  got  a  Bible;  can  you 
get  a  hymn-book  ?  " 

Posie  clapped  her  hands.  In  all  haste  the  two 
slipped  down  from  the  hay  mow  and  went  off  to 
execute  their  purposes. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SERVICE. 

T7AGERLY  and  hastily  the  children  made  their 
L/  preparations.  It  cost  Posie  some  trouble  to 
find  a  hymn-book;  however  she  found  one  at  last. 
Stephen  was  waiting  for  her,  and  they  set  out.  It 
was  now  ten  o'clock;  high  morning;  the  sun  was 
bright  and  warm,  and  on  the  road  people  were 
driving,  all  going  one  way,  in  all  sorts  of  vehicles. 
Posie  explained  that  they  were  going  to  church. 
Stephen  asked  where,  and  was  told  that  a  mile  and 
a  half  away  there  was  a  village  called  Cowslip, 
which  was  big  enough  to  have  a  church.  Stephen 
remarked,  he  wished  they  were  going  too. 

"Well  we  are,  aint  we?"  said  Posie.  "Our 
church  will  be  just  as  good  as  their  church ;  won't 
it  ?  Better.  I  don't  like  to  go  to  church  at  Cowslip, 
and  ma  don't  either.  It  gives  her  a  headache,  she 
says.  Look  at  that  boy,  Stephen" — 

Stephen  had  not  noticed  until  now  a  boy  who 
seemed  to  be  going  their  way,  and  who  seemed  be 
sides  to  be  more  intent  upon  them  and  their  motions 
than  there  was  any  occasion  for.  Looking  at  him 

now  attentively,  Stephen  thought  he  had  seen  him 
(161) 


162  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

before.     He  looked  away,  and  then  looked  at  him 
again. 

"All  right,"  said  the  boy.  "How  d'  ye  do? 
Here  I  am,  you  see,  'cordin'  to  agreement.  Where 
oe  you  streakin'  fur  ?  " 

"  0  it's  Wilkins,"  said  Stephen,  not  delighted. 

"Who  should  it  be.  I  should  think  it  was! 
Aint  you  Stephen?  and  don't  you  remember  our 
agreement?" 

"I  made  no  agreement  with  you." 

"  0  yes,  you  did.  Maybe  you've  forgotten.  When 
folks  don't  want  to  remember,  it's  main  easy  to  for 
get.  You  was  goin'  along  'th  me  this  forenoon." 

"  I  told  you  I  would  not,  Wilkins." 

"  I  told  you  you  would,  didn't  I  ?  I  allays  keeps 
my  promises.  I'm  like  Gordon  fur  that.  You're 
goin'  along  'th  me.  It  'ud  be  too  fur  for  the  little 
lady;  you'd  best  send  her  home.  See,  sissy;  I  prom 
ised  to  take  this  here  feller  to  church  this  forenoon ; 
and  it's  too  fur  for  you,  a  long  sight ;  you'd  best  run 
home,  you  see.  He's  a  goin'  with  me." 

Posie  stared  at  the  speaker,  and  kept  fast  hold  of 
Stephen's  hand. 

"Tisn't  true,"  said  Stephen.  "I  said  no  such 
thing.  You  didn't  ask  me  to  go  to  church,  and  I 
didn't  say  I  would;  and  I'm  not  going  anywhere 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  aint  you !  "  said  the  other.  "  Come  now,  this 
is  gettin'  too  interestin'  to  be  pleasant.  Suppos'n* 
I  make  you,  young  chap  ?  " 

Stephen  stood  still,  facing  him,  and  said  nothing. 


SERVICE.  163 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  Posie  asked  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  who  am  I !  Come  now,  that's  ray ther  good. 
Who  am  I  ?  Upon  my  word,  I  forget.  Who  air 
you,  fat  chops  ?  " 

"  You  go  along !  "  said  Posie.  "  If  you're  one  of 
my  father's  boys,  I'll  tell  him  of  you ;  and  he'll  fix 
you!" 

This  was  said  in  great  indignation,  which  received 
no  little  of  its  point  and  expression  from  fear.  Point 
and  expression  however  it  had ;  and  both  boys  were 
a  little  astonished;  though  Wilkins  answered  with 
an  irreverent, 

"Where  do  you  come  from,  Goody?" 

"  I  am  Miss  Hardenbrook,"  was  the  dignified  re 
turn  ;  "  and  you  had  best  let  me  alone." 

"  Goin'  to,  thank  you.  It's  only  this  here  boy  I 
am  after.  You  see,  Miss  Hardenbrook,  he  engaged 
positive  to  go  along  with  me  to-day;  and  now  as 
I've  broken  up  everythin'  else  to  go  with  him,  I 
can't  let  him  loose,  you  see." 

"  I  am  not  going  with  you,  Wilkins.  Neither  now 
nor  any  other  time,"  Stephen  said  steadily. 

"  You'd  better,  if  you  know  what's  good  for  you," 
Wilkins  said  with  a  very  ugly  aspect.  Stephen 
said  no  more,  but  could  not  go  forward,  as  Wilkins 
barred  the  way. 

"  Ef  you  don't  come  along  'th  me,  I'll  tell  Gordon 
of  you;  and  then,  you  see,  you'll  wish  I  hadn't. 
My !  can't  he  make  it  a  time  for  you,  though ! 
You'd  better  keep  on  Gordon's  good  side,  I  tell  you ! 
Ef  he  aint  a  peeler,  I  never  see  one." 


164  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Go  away !  "  said  Posie.  "  You're  stoppin'  the 
road.  Just  go  away,  will  you.  You're  in  my  way." 

The  boy  stepped  a  little  to  one  side,  and  the  two 
children  immediately  went  forward,  Posie  pulling 
Stephen  along. 

"  That's  a  bad  boy.  I  hate  him !  "  she  said  under 
her  breath  as  soon  as  she  judged  it  was  safe. 
"  What  made  him  bother  us?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Is  he  comin'  after  us,  Stephen  ?  " 

Stephen  looked  furtively,  and  then  boldly.  Wil- 
kins  was  no  more  to  be  seen. 

"  What  did  he  want,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  He  wanted  me  to  go  somewhere 
with  him,  but  I  don't  know  where  and  I  don't  know 
why.  It  was  no  good,  anyhow." 

"  Does  he  like  you,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  does,  Posie." 

"  Then  why  did  he  want  you  ?  '' 

"  I  can't  tell.  Maybe  he  wanted  to  get  me  to  do 
something  I  ought  not  to  do  to-day." 

"Well,  if  you  wouldn't  for  me,  I  guess  you 
wouldn't  for  him.  Who's  Gordon,  Stephen  ?  01 
know;  he  is  father's  factory  man.  I  don't  like  him. 
Do  you  like  him  ?  " 

Stephen  confided  to  Posie  that  he  did  not;  and 
therewith  they  reached  the  meadow  and  got  through 
the  fence.  The  sun  was  up  high  in  the  sky  now; 
the  grass  was  dry;  the  air  was  warm;  and  as  the 
delicious  gurgle  of  the  brook  reached  their  ears  the 
two  children  sprang  forward  to  get  to  it.  The 


SERVICE.  165 

brook  was  murmuring  along  gently,  a  slender  stream 
now  that  the  mill  was  not  working;  the  shallow 
brown  water  shewed  all  its  stony  bed,  and  made 
sweet  music  as  it  flowed  along.  The  bed  of  the 
brook  was  very  stony ;  some  stones  were  large  and 
some  were  small;  now  and  then  one  divided  the 
narrow  current,  and  many  an  eddy  and  rebellious 
dash  of  the  water  shewed  the  hindrances  it  had 
to  fight  with  in  its  way.  Its  way  was  very  devious ; 
the  brook  curled  and  twisted  and  doubled  enough 
to  treble  its  length;  and  along  its  edges  grew  rank 
grass  in  tufts  and  fringes  of  lush  green.  To  the 
children  it  was  a  thing  of  unqualified  delight,  in 
all  its  features;  or  if  there  were  a  qualification  in 
Posie's  mind,  it  was  that  the  day  was  Sunday. 

"  0  Stephen !  do  you  think  there  would  be  any 
harm  in  sailing  boats  just  a  little  ?  " 

"We've  got  to  have  our  preaching  first,"  sug 
gested  Stephen  prudently.  "  Let's  find  a  place.  Up 
there  by  the  waterfall — by  Niagara ;  wouldn't  that 
do?" 

They  ran  thither  eagerly ;  but  alas !  Niagara  is 
not  favourable  to  the  efforts  of  an  orator  in  its  im 
mediate  neighbourhood;  and  so  the  children  found 
that  even  the  roar  of  the  ten  foot  fall,  when  they 
were  close  under  it,  made  talking  and  reading  im 
possible,  and  singing  no  better  than  lost  labour 
But  the  meadow  was  sunny,  and  the  ground  was 
cold,  and  there  was  no  good,  quiet,  withdrawn 
place  to  be  found.  The  children  must  retrace  their 
steps,  quit  the  meadow,  go  back  over  the  road,  till 


16G  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

they  came  to  the  brook  above  the  fall.  There  they 
left  the  road  again  and  plunged  into  the  thicket 
which  fringed  and  overhung  the  stream.  It  was 
pretty  there,  and  shady;  but  a  good  place  to  sit 
down  had  still  to  be  sought  for;  and  they  picked 
their  way  along  by  the  brook  for  some  distance 
till  they  came  to  the  mill  weir.  Just  above  that 
there  were  some  beautiful  larger  rocks,  with  a  finer 
over-arching  growth  of  wood,  and  smaller  rocks 
which  would  serve  very  conveniently  for  their  pur 
pose.  Here  they  sat  down,  and  looked  at  each  other 
contentedly;  warm  with  exercise  and  tired  with 
scrambling.  All  around  was  stillness  now;  the 
road  was  at  some  distance,  and  the  hour  for  church- 
going  wagons  was  long  past.  It  was  Sabbath  still 
ness  ;  only  the  trickle  of  water  from  the  weir  and 
the  song  of  the  birds  in  the  tree  tops;  not  even 
the  nutter  of  a  leaf  beside.  To  Stephen,  though 
he  was  not  in  a  church,  it  "felt  like  Sunday;"  after 
that  fashion  we  all  know;  perhaps  because  only 
when  the  noises  of  men  cease  to  be  heard,  we  can 
hear  the  choral  of  creation.  Little  Stephen  seemed 
to  hear  it,  and  folded  his  hands  in  glad,  though 
wordless,  devotion.  Posie  missed  the  association. 

"It's  nice  here,"  she  said  nevertheless.  "Now 
Stephen,  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Play  church,  you  know.  I  think  this  is  a  beau 
tiful  church,  don't  you  ?  Maybe  there  are  angels 
in  the  tree  tops." 

"Angels?"  said  Posie,  looking  up.  "Can  you 
see  them  ?  " 


SERVICE.  167 

"  0  no,  we  can't  see  them,  but  they're  about,  you 
know.  Now  Posie,  we'll  begin.  The  first  thing 
is  to  pray.  We  can't  kneel  down  here  in  this 
muss;  I  guess  it  aint  dry  enough;  so  we  must 
stand  up." 

"Why?" 

"We  could  not  pray  sitting  down,  you  know. 
It  wouldn't  be  proper.  It  wouldn't  be  respectful, 
when  we  are  speaking  to  God." 

"  Are  you  going  to  speak  to  God  ?  " 

"  Yes.     That  is  what  prayer  is." 

"  I  didn't  know  that,"  said'  Posie ;  and  she  rose 
up  and  stroked  down  her  apron.  Stephen  rose  too, 
laid  his  hands  together,  and  shut  his  eyes ;  but  that 
was  not  part  of  Posie's  programme  and  she  stared 
straight  at  him.  And  thereby  she  got  an  impression 
which  quite  altered  the  whole  thing  for  her  and 
took  it  out  of  the  "play  "  category.  Stephen's  face 
was  so  grave,  and  so  sweet,  and  so  earnest,  that 
she  perceived  it  was  very  real  to  him,  what  he  was 
doing;  and  somehow,  by  sympathy  or  otherwise, 
something  of  the  solemnity  and  a  little  of  the  sweet 
ness  came  into  her  own  little  heart.  Stephen's 
first  prayer  was  very  short. 

"  Now  Posie,"  he  said,  "  we  must  sing  a  hymn." 

It  was  quite  delightful,  the  looking  out  what 
hynm  they  would  sing,  and  the  discussion  of  tunes; 
but  at  last  one  was  hit  upon  which  Posie  thought 
she  knew ;  and  as  Stephen  knew  it  very  well,  he 
led  and  she  joined  in  as  she  could.  Posie  had  an 
ear,  albeit  never  cultivated  in  sacred  melody ;  she- 


168  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

caught  the  tune  and  presently  struck  in  heartily ; 
and  the  sweet  shrill  warble  of  the  children's  voices 
rose  up  and  mingled  with  the  bird  songs  over  their 
heads.  The  hymnsinging  was  heartily  enjoyed  by 
both  of  them. 

"  What  comes  next,  Stephen  ?  "  said  Posie,  when 
they  had  done. 

"  Next  comes  the  preaching." 

"  I  don't  like  preaching,"  said  Posie.  "  Suppose 
we  skip  that  ?  " 

"  0  no,"  said  Stephen,  "  that  would  not  be  like 
church,  you  know.  That  would  not  do.  But  first 
I  must  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible.  I  forgot  that. 
It's  so  good  I've  got  my  Bible  again ! " 

'*  It  isn't  a  very  pretty  one,"  said  Posie. 

"No,  but  it  was  mother's  Bible,  and  I  like  it. 
I'll  read  here.  Now  you  sit  still  and  don't  speak, 
Posie,  till  I  have  done." 

Upon  which  adjuration  followed  the  reading  of 
the  ten  commandments,  unbroken  by  any  question 
or  remark;  and  then  Stephen  shut  his  book  and 
said,  "  Let  us  pray." 

"  Now  Posie,"  said  he  as  they  stood  up,  for  some 
thing  in  Posie's  wide-open  orbs  had  struck  him  at 
the  close  of  his  first  prayer, — "Now  Posie,  you 
must  shut  your  eyes,  and  you  must  mean  what  I 
say,  just  as  I  say  it.  I  am  going  to  ask  for  things, 
and  you  must  ask  too.  Will  you  ?  " 

"Aloud?" 

"No,  no!  quietly,  in  your  heart." 

"Well,  go  on,   Stephen,"  Posie  answered  in  a 


SERVICE.  169 

somewhat  non-committal  manner.  Then  Stephen 
prayed,  after  the  fashion  following. 

"  0  God,  we  want  to  keep  all  thy  commandments. 
At  least  I  do ;  I  don't  know  about  Posie,  but  I  think 
she  will,  too.  And  I  think  we  shall  find  some 
things  very  hard,  and  I  am  afraid  we  shall  want  a 
great  deal  of  help.  Will  you  help  us,  to  keep  them 
all,  every  one,  and  not  to  be  afraid  ?  You  know 
we  are  little  children,  and  we  don't  know  anything, 
and  we  can't  do  much;  so  if  you  don't  help  us,  I 
am  afraid  we  can't  stand.  0  please  to  teach  us, 
and  to  take  care  of  us.  Help  us  to  keep  the  Sab 
bath  holy.  Help  us  to  speak  the  truth.  Help  us 
to  do  everything  just  as  the  Bible  says;  and  when 
we  don't  understand,  help  us  to  understand.  We 
want  to  be  lambs  of  Jesus;  at  least  I  do,  and  I 
think  Posie  does.  0  Lord  be  our  good  Shepherd  ! 
Amen." 

They  sat  down. 

"  That  wasn't  a  very  long  prayer,"  said  Posie. 

"No,"  said  Stephen.  "I  hadn't  anything  else 
to  say." 

"  The  minister  in  church  has  a  great  deal  more 
to  say,"  Posie  went  on,  "  for  he  prays  and  prays, 
and  it  seems  as  if  he  never  would  get  to  the  end. 
I  like  your  praying  a  great  deal  the  best,  Stephen. 
Now  are  you  going  to  preach  ?  It's  very  funny  to 
preach,  with  only  one  person  to  hear." 

"There  are  two,"  said  Stephen;  "you  and  me." 

"0,  are  you  going  to  preach  to  yourself?  I 
didn't  know  people  did  that." 


170  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  am  going  to.  But  I  don't  know  how  to  make 
a  sermon.  I  guess  I'll  do  what  they  sometimes 
do,  take  a  chapter  and  explain  it.  I  forget  the 
name  of  it.  'Tisn't  a  sermon." 

"  That'll  do  better,"  said  Posie  stroking  down  her 
apron.  "  And  by  that  time  I  guess  it'll  be  noon, 
and  time  to  go  home  to  dinner.  Now  go  on,  Ste 
phen.  This  is  the  nicest  church  I  ever  was  in." 

"  Isn't  it ! "  said  Stephen.  "  I  think  so  too.  These 
trees  are  the  pillars,  and  the  branches  make  the 
roof;  and  the  birds  are  a  nice  congregation." 

"The  birds?  "  said  Posie.  "  I  thought  I  was  the 
congregation;  and  so  I  am.  Now  go  on,  Stephen. 
What  are  you  going  to  preach  about  ?  " 

"  I  guess,"  said  Stephen,  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  his  little  Bible, — "I  guess,  the  fall  of  Jericho." 

"  What's  Jericho?     1  don't  know." 

"  Jericho  was  a  city ;  a  strong  city ;  it  had  great, 
high  walls  and  towers." 

« What  for?" 

"Why,  to  make  it  safe,  if  enemies  came  to 
fight  against  it.  The  walls  were  so  high  they 
could  not  climb  them,  and  they  were  so  thick,  a 
woman  had  her  house  on  the  wall." 

"She  couldn't,"  said  Posie.  "I  don't  believe  that," 

"  0  but  she  did.     The  Bible  says  so." 

"  Is  everything  true  the  Bible  says  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  God  taught  the  people  who  wrote  it 
what  to  write;  and  He  is  always  true." 


SERVICE.  171 

"  Well,  go  on,  Stephen.  What  were  the  walls  so 
thick  for?" 

"  To  make  them  very  strong,  so  that  when  the 
gates  were  shut  nobody  could  get  in;  and  they 
were  shut  now,  fast,  and  watched;  and  the  walls 
were  watched,  and  if  anybody  tried  to  climb  over, 
the  people  inside  would  shoot  arrows  at  them  and 
throw  stones  down  upon  them,  and  kill  them,  be 
fore  ever  they  could  get  to  the  top." 

"  Then  I  should  think  they  wouldn't  try." 

"  But  they  had  to  take  the  city." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  Jews.  They  were  all  there,  a  little 
way  from  the  place,  a  great  multitude  of  them ;  and 
they  had  to  take  the  city." 

"Why?" 

"  God  had  told  them  to  take  it.  And  besides, 
they  must.  They  had  to  take  all  the  cities  of  the 
land,  and  all  the  country,  for  God  had  promised  to 
give  them  the  whole  of  it;  and  told  them  they 
must  destroy  all  the  people." 

"What  for,  Stephen?" 

"They  were  so  wicked.  They  would  have  taught 
the  Hebrews  their  wicked  ways." 

"Then  ought  everybody  that  is  wicked  to  be 
killed  right  off?" 

"No.  God  wants  them  to  repent.  But  these 
people  would  not  repent.  So  the  Hebrews  had  to 
take  Jericho." 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  could,  if  the  walls  were 
like  that," 


172  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Now  I'll  read  you  what  they  were  commanded 
to  do."  And  Stephen  read  the  order  accordingly. 

"  To  walk  round  it !  What  good  would  that  do  ?  " 
cried  Posie.  "  Why  it  would  be  no  use  at  all, 
Stephen." 

"  But  God  commanded  it." 

"What  for?     It  was  no  use." 

*'  It  is  always  use  to  do  what  God  tells  us  to 
do." 

"  Not  if  it's  no  use,"  insisted  Posie. 

"  But  you  couldn't  tell  whether  it  was  any  use 
or  no,  and  they  couldn't  tell.  Only,  it  is  always  of 
use  to  do  what  God  says,  whether  we  understand 
it  or  no." 

"If  you  had  been  there,  would  you  have  gone 
marching  round  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  would." 

"I  wouldn't." 

"Then  you'd  have  lost  all  the  good." 

"  What  was  the  good  ?  " 

"They  took  the  city." 

"How  did  they  take  it?" 

"Just  by  obeying  and  trusting  the  Lord,  and 
doing  what  you  thought  was  of  no  use.  They 
walked  round  the  walls  seven  days,  once  each  day; 
and  the  last  day  they  walked  round  seven  times; 
arid  the  last  time,  when  the  priests  blew  with  the 
trumpets,  Joshua  said,  '  Shout,  for  the  Lord  hath 
given  you  the  city.'  And  then  they  shouted  a 
great  ringing  shout." 

"  Had  he  given  them  the  city  ?  " 


SERVICE.  173 

"  No,  not  yet.  The  walls  were  standing  as  high 
and  strong  as  ever;  but  the  people  believed  God 
would  keep  his  promise,  and  so  they  shouted.  You 
wouldn't  have  shouted,  either,  Posie." 

"  No.  I  guess  I  wouldn't.  I  wouldn't  have  been 
there." 

"  Then  you  wouldn't  have  seen  what  they  saw." 

"What  did  they  see?" 

"They  saw  that  great,  high,  strong  wall  fall 
down  flat;  the  whole  of  it,  all  round;  so  that  the 
men  went  straight  up  into  the  city,  on  all  sides  at 
once." 

"  Did  they  know  the  walls  would  fall  ?  " 

"  No  indeed;  they  knew  nothing  about  it.  They 
only  knew  that  God  had  promised  them  the  city; 
how  they  would  get  it  they  did  not  know,  till  they 
saw  the  walls  toppling  over." 

"  And  then,  what  did  they  do  ?  " 

"  Went  in  and  took  it." 

"  Did  they  kill  everybody  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  except  one  woman  that  had  believed  the 
Lord;  and  they  brought  her  out  safe,  and  every 
thing  and  everybody  that  belonged  to  her;  and  she 
got  no  harm  at  all." 

"  Well  Stephen,  this  is  a  very  interesting  sermon. 
Is  it  done  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  made  the  application  yet." 

"What's  that?" 

"  It's — I  don't  know  exactly  how  to  tell  you. 
It's  the  lesson,  I  believe." 

"What  lesson?" 


174  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  The  lesson  of  the  preaching — of  the  sermon." 

"  0  but  we  have  had  the  sermon ;  we  don't  want 
the  lesson." 

"  But  that's  what  the  sermon's  for"  insisted  the 
preacher.  "  It  isn't  finished  without  that." 

"  I  don't  see  any  lesson." 

"  I  do.  And  I  must  tell  you.  Suppose  we  had 
to  take  Jericho." 

"  But  we  don't ! "  said  Posie  laughing.  "  We 
haven't  got  to  take  Jericho,  and  we  couldn't  if  we 
had." 

"  Yes,  we  could." 

"You  and  me?  Take  a  great  big  city,  with 
walls  as  high  as  a  house  ?  " 

"  Yes.     We  could,  if  God  told  us  to  do  it." 

"Ah,  but  he  hasn't  told  us  any  such  thing." 

"He  has  told  us  to  do  other  difficult  things — 
almost  as  difficult." 

"What?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  sometimes  I  guess  it's  pretty 
hard  to  be  good.  Sometimes  it  is  hard  to  tell  the 
truth,  when  it  will  make  somebody  angry.  Some 
times  it  is  hard  to  feel  right  to  people  that  are  ugly 
and  disagreeable." 

"  That  boy  Wilidns  ?  "  said  Posie. 

"Yes.  I  was  very  angry  at  him  for  a  little 
while." 

"  So  you  ought  to  be  angry.  He  is  a  wicked, 
wicked  boy.  I  hate  him  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  know  we  mustn't  hate  anybody." 

"  Yes,  we  must,  when  they  ought  to  be  hated." 


SERVICE.  175 

"  No,  we  mustn't,  for  Jesus  said  we  must  forgive 
everybody,  no  matter  what  they  do." 

"  Why  V  " 

"  Because  it  is  like  God  to  forgive,  and  to  love 
people;  and  his  children  must  be  like  him." 

"  We  -can't,"  said  Posie  decidedly.  "  We  cant 
love  people  when  they  are  wicked." 

"Then  that's  like  the  taking  of  Jericho,"  said 
Stephen.  "  We  can't  do  it,  but  God  can." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  you  can't  walk 
round  it,"  said  Posie,  much  amused  with  this  put 
ting  of  the  case. 

"No — "  said  Stephen  thoughtfully,  "but  we  can 
do  whatever  else  the  Bible  tells  us;  that  will  be 
like  walking  round  the  walls;  and  we  can  shout 
if  we  believe  God  will  give  us  the  victory." 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  pa  about  that  Wilkins,"  said 
Posie  inconsequently. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE. 

THE  children  made  their  way  home  slowly,  held 
by  the  loveliness  of  everything  around  them. 
The  trickle  and  gurgle  of  the  shallow  brook;  its 
nameless  beauties  of  mimic  waterfall  and  impotent 
rapid;  its  delightful  soft  voice  and  continual  life 
and  movement  and  variety,  filled  their  eyes  and 
their  ears  with  delight.  They  were  ever  stopping 
to  look  at  something  new,  lingering,  chatting, 
planning;  and  got  home  at  last  only  just  in  time 
for  dinner.  At  the  kitchen  they  separated;  Ste 
phen  remaining  with  Jonto,  while  Posie  went  in 
to  dine  with  her  father  and  mother.  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook  was  ill  content,  but  that  surprised  no 
body;  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  was  never  known  to  be 
content,  unless  when  a  prophecy  of  hers  seemed 
to  be  fulfilled.  Posie  immediately  set  about  her 
remedial  measures. 

"Pa,"  said  she,  "do  you  know  all  the  boys  in 
your  factory  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know  them  pretty  well." 

u  What  makes  you  keep  that  one  whose  name  is 
Wilkins?" 
(176) 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  177, 

"  Why  should  I  not  keep  him  ?  " 

u  He  is  bad,  pa.     He  aint  a  good  boy." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  'Cause  he  stopped  us  on  the  road." 

"  Did  he  !     Why  did  he  stop  you  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  Stephen  to  go  to  church  with  him." 

"  What  harm  was  there  in  that  ?  " 

"  Now  Mr.  Hardenbrook,"  broke  in  his  wife,  "  here 
is  the  beginning,  and  what  will  the  end  be  ?  Here 
is  Posie  running  about  all  day  with  a  couple  of 
your  rude  boys;  what  do  you  think  will  become 
of  her?" 

The  pinch  in  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  nose  became 
more  pinched,  her  eyebrows  arched  themselves 
more  doubtfully,  and  her  voice  was  a  little  harsher 
than  even  its  wont,  as  she  spoke.  Posie  at  once 
took  up  the  cudgels. 

"  Mother,  he  isn't  rude  a  bit,  Stephen  isn't.  He 
is  just  the  best  boy  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

"  I  suppose  he  is, — being  the  only  one,"  said  her 
father. 

"  Stephen  is  the  best  of  anybody  in  the  house. 
I  mean,  you  and  mother  aint  religious,  you  know; 
but  he  is." 

"  Ah  !     How  did  you  find  that  out  ?  " 

"  He's  been  prayin'  and  preachin'  all  the  morn 
ing." 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of  laughter ; 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  bridled  and  coloured. 

"  Where  was  the  other  boy  ?  "  the  former  asked. 

"Wilkins?      0    he   went    away,    after    Stephen 


178  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

wouldn't  go  with  him.  He's  a  real  bad,  mean 
boy !  Pa,  I  wouldn't  keep  him  in  the  factory,  if  I 
Was  you." 

"Perhaps,  if  I  were  you,  /would  not;  but  as  it 
is  I  must  do  the  best  I  can.  Mr.  Gordon  speaks 
well  of  him." 

"  Mr.  Gordon  aint  good  neither." 

11  Did  Stephen  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  thinks  so,  and  he  don't  think  Wilkins 
is  good,  no  more." 

"  Perhaps  he  would  be  wiser  if  he  waited  a  little 
longer  to  form  his  opinion.  I  really  think,  Posie,  I 
know  best.  Don't  you  ?  " 

Posie  considered,  and  the'n  said  frankly,  "No, 
pa,  I  don't.  Wilkins  was  very — ugly" 

"Because  he  wanted  to  take  your  playfellow 
away.  I  understand." 

"  And  he  said  Stephen  had  promised  to  go  with 
him.  And  he  never  did." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"  Stephen.     He  said  he  never  promised  him." 

"Then  there  is  a  lie  between  them,  certainly; 
but  who  knows  who  told  it?" 

"  I  know,  pa.     Stephen  always  tells  the  truth." 

"He  does,  does  he!     Pray  how  do  you  know?" 

Posie  had  not  advanced  so  far  in  her  admiration 
of  truth  as  to  be  willing  herself  to  face  some  re 
proach  on  account  of  it ;  she  was  silent.  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook  used  the  interval. 

"I  should  think)  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  you  would 
see  that  such  boys  are  not  fit  company  for  your 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  179 

daughter!  Coarse,  rude,  bad  boys!  I  cannot 
make  out  how  you  can  allow  it." 

"  Stephen  isrit  coarse  or  rude,  ma;  he  is  just  good. 
I  hate  that  Wilkins !  I  wish  pa'd  send  him  away." 

"  Stephen,  I  suppose,  put  that  wish  in  your  head," 
said  her  father.  "Wilkins  probably  would  say 
the  same  of  Stephen.  Boys  are  all  alike.  You 
had  better  keep  away  from  them,  my  little  Posie." 

Which  recommendation  Posie  was  so  far  from 
regarding,  that  she  went  out  to  the  kitchen  that 
same  afternoon  to  beg  Stephen  to  play  church 
again ;  but  Stephen  was  not  there.  He  had  gone 
to  a  real  service  at  Cowslip,  with  Jonto. 

Meanwhile  Wilkins  laid  his  plans.  Next  day, 
finding  himself  in  Mr.  Gordon's  neighborhood  at  a 
time  when  Stephen  was  in  another  part  of  the 
building,  he  remarked  casually. 

"  That's  a  rum  little  chap  we've  got  for  a  recruit 
down  stairs.  He's  the  oldest,  for  his  age,  of  any 
boy  I  ever  see,  and  the  rummest." 

This  getting  no  attention,  Wilkins  went  on. 

"  He's  a  deep  un,  he  is.  He's  one  o'  the  slick 
down  pious  kind;  all  the  ministers  in  town  aiiit 
more'n  fit  to  brush  his  shoes.  What  do  you  think 
he  was  up  to  yesterday,  Mr.  Gordon  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  nor  care.  You  haint  got  that  face 
true,  Wilkins." 

The  face  Mr.  Gordon  referred  to  was  not  Wil 
kins'  own,  of  flesh  and  blood,  but  a  board  surface 
upon  which  the  boy  was  at  work. 

"  It'll  be  true  afore  I've  done  with  it." 


180  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Don't  be  forever  about  it,  neither.  You  mayn't 
think  it,  Mr.  Wilkins,  but  time  is  an  article  in  busi 
ness.  I  notice  an  uncommonly  many  people  hev 
an  idee  it's  like  space, — no  end  to  it,  and  so  no  price 
upon  it." 

"What  is  the  price  upon  it,  Mr.  Gordon,  if  you 
please  ?  " 

"You  take  good  care  of  it,  and  you'll  know. 
Some  folks'  lives  is  twice  as  long  as  others,  and  no 
more  years  in  'em,  neither.  I  expect  your'n  '11  be 
about  a  quarter  o'  the  ordinary." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Gordon,  don't  you  think  it's  right  to 
play  on  a  Sunday,  when  one  has  worked  all  through 
the  week?" 

"I've  no  objection,  e/"he  has." 

"  Well  ask  that  ere  chap.  He  don't  think  so.  I 
couldn't  get  no  fun  out  o'  him,  or  into  him,  yester 
day.  I'll  tell  you  what  he's  up  to,  Gordon,  in  case 
you  mayn't  know ; — he's  comin'  the  pious  over  the 
folks  in  the  house  over  there." 

"  How  do  you  know  as  much  ?  "  was  the  question, 
with  a  coarse  word  not  necessary  to  repeat. 

"  Heerd  him  !  Heerd  him  myself,  and  seen  him. 
Like  to  know  who  should  know  !  I  seen  him  my 
self,  and  I  heerd  him ;  and  it  was  the  richest  thing 
I  ever  see,  or  heerd  either.  He  was  along  o'  that 
little  Hardenbrook  doll,  and  he  wouldn't  go  no- 
wheres  with  me;  o'  course  he  wouldn't;  he  was  a 
hitch  too  good  for  that.  So  they  went  off  into  the 
woods,  and  I  follered  'em, — up  here  above  the 
mill,  there  by  the  weir ;  and  there  they  sat  down ; 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  181 

and  he  prayed,  and  she  sung, — hymn  tunes,  mind 
you ; — and  then  he  read  out  o'  the  Bible  and  talked ; 
it  was  too  good  to  keep  to  myself;  I  only  jest  wished 
1  had  some  one  else  to  shew  it  to.  0  he  laid  down 
the  law,  you  bet !  about  Sundays  and  all  sorts  o' 
things.  And  now,  Mr.  Gordon,  aint  that  a  leetle 
too  much?  0'  course  they're  as  gulled  as  they 
can  be,  over  there  in  the  house ;  and  they'll  all  be 
swearin'  by  Stephen  Kay,  you  bet.  Ef  he  was  big 
enough,  I  guess  he'd  get  your  place.  I  shouldn't 
wonder." 

"  Ha'  you  got  that  piece  o'  work  done  ?  "  inquired 
Gordon  grimly.  Wilkins  was  satisfied  that  he  had 
fired  his  train,  although  just  then  no  more  was  said. 

But  the  fire  was  smouldering.  Gordon  always 
declared  he  hated  shams.  In  that  he  was  not  alone ; 
we  all  hate  them.  And  in  this  Mr.  Gordon  was 
not  alone  either ; — that  only  more  than  a  sham  of 
this  kind  he  hated  the  reality.  Whether  it  were 
sham  or  truth  in  Stephen's  case  he  did  not  feel 
certain;  he  would  find  out.  For  the  sham,  if  a 
sham,  must  be  discovered  and  put  an  end  to ;  and 
the  truth,  if  truth  it  were,  must  equally  be  got  rid 
of.  Neither  thing  could  Mr.  Gordon  tolerate  in  his 
small  kingdom;  and  he  considered  for  some  time 
what  would  be  his  best  way  of  going  to  work. 
The  boy  did  perfectly  what  was  given  him  to  do ; 
that  Gordon  saw ;  there  would  be  no  attacking  him 
on  the  score  of  neglect  or  unfaithfulness.  Like  as 
it  was  in  Daniel's  case ;  "  we  shall  find  no  fault  in 
this  man,  except  we  find  it  concerning  the  law  of 


182  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

his  God."  It  was  not  till  afternoon  that  Gordon 
got  his  opportunity. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  yourself  yesterday,  Mr- 
Bell,"  he  asked  lightly  of  one  of  the  men  on  the 
lower  floor. 

"  Paid  attention  to  sleep,"  said  the  man  with  a 
laugh.  "Never  do  git  enough  the  six  nights  o' 
the  week;  allays  hev  to  make  up  what's  left  when 
Sunday  comes." 

"  Then  you  don't  do  much  to  keep  up  the  pew 
rents?" 

"No,  sir.  That's  for  folks,  as  I  take  it,  what 
hasn't  got  no  work  to  do,  and  can  manage  with  a 
snooze  over  their  hymn  books.  They  takes  life 
easy." 

"  Jes'  so.     Where  did  you  go,  Wilkins  ?  " 

"Attended  service,  sir,  at  the  nearest  church. 
Very  solemn  it  was,  sir,  too.  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"Where  was  it?" 

"Just  by,  sir;  in  the  woods  church,  I  calls  it. 
Wasn't  much  of  a  congregation,  and  the  preacher 
was  mighty  young,  to  be  sure,  but  the  preachin' 
was  uncommon'  edifyin'." 

"  Was  you  there  too,  Stephen?"  Mr.  Gordon  went 
on  easily.  "You  and  Wilkins  was  a  goin'  to  church 
together,  warn't  you  ?  Somethin'  new  for  Wilkins ! " 

"  Too  new,  by  half,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "There 
is  some  new  things  as  won't  stand  handlin'.  I'd 
rayther  stick  by  the  old." 

"Was  you  there,  Stephen?"  the  foreman  re 
peated.  "You  was  with  Wilkins?" 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  183 

"No,  sir." 

"  Warn't  ?     Why  he  says  you  be." 

"I  wasn't  in  church  at  all,  sir,  till  the  afternoon, 
and  then  I  went  with  somebody  else." 

"  Where  was  you  in  the  forenoon  ?  " 

"  I  went  nowhere,  sir,  to  church." 

"  I  ask,  where  was  you  ?  "  said  Gordon  sharply. 

"  In  the  woods,  by  the  brook,  not  far  from  here." 

"Whatdoin'?"  " 

"  I  was  there  with  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  little  girl," 
said  Stephen,  edging  off  from  nearer  disclosures  as 
well  as  he  could. 

"  I  dare  say;  and  what  was  you  doin  ?  "  Gordon 
roared.  "Don't  ye  understand  English?  Speak 
when  you're  spoken  to,  sir." 

"  We  were  playin' — a  sort  of  play,"  Stephen  an 
swered  in  growing  embarrassment  and  trouble. 
For  the  play  had  been  sweet  earnest  to  him,  and 
he  did  not  want  it  made  common  or  laughed  at. 

"  Ah  ! —  What  sort  o'  play  was  it  now  ? — ef  you 
haint  forgotten." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,  sir,"  said  Stephen. 

"Then  go  on  and  tell.  And  mind  you,  ef  you 
give  me  much  more  trouble  o'  askin'  questions,  I'll 
give  you  sornethin'  to  oil  your  tongue.  Go  ahead; 
what  was  it  ?  " 

"We  were  playin'  have  church," — Stephen  an 
swered  low.  There  was  a  general  burst  of  rude 
laughter,  a  coarse  guffaw,  which  grated  terribly 
on  the  little  boy's  ears ;  but  he  stood  firm,  like  the 
manly  little  fellow  he  was. 


184  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"That's  good!"  said  Gordon.  "Who  was  the 
minister  ?  " 

"  I  was." 

"  Did  you  preach  a  sermon  ?  " 

"No  sir,  I  couldn't,  not  exactly." 

"  Wilkins  says  you  did." 

"  Wilkins !—     He  wasn't  there  !  " 

"Warn't  he?  He  told  us  all  about  it  though. 
Seems  to  me  he  must  ha'  ben  somewhere  within 
hearin'.  He  said  it  was  a  real  edifyin'  sermon." 

"  It  was  not  a  sermon  at  all,"  said  Stephen  col 
ouring.  "  Where  were  you,  Wilkins  ?  " 

"  In  your  new  church,"  said  the  boy  scornfully. 
"  It  was  too  big,  you  see ;  you  couldn't  get  a  sight 
o'  all  your  congregation." 

Stephen  thought  he  would,  next  time. 

"  Go  ahead,  Stephen,"  said  Gordon  laughing. 
"  Ef  it  warn't  a  sermon,  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  nothing  to  laugh  at,  sir,"  said  Stephen. 

"  That's  as  I  choose.  Go  you  on  along,  and  an 
swer  me.  What  was  it  ?  " 

"It  was  just  talking," — said  Stephen. 

"  And  what's  preachin'  but  talkin',  I  should  like 
to  know?  Now  I'll  tell  you  what;  you  shall  just 
stand  up  there  and  give  us  a  sample  o'  what  you 
kin  do.  Mr.  Garth,  just  you  clear  off  that  end  o' 
the  bench,  and  lift  Stephen  up.  Stop  work,  men, 
— we're  a  goin'  to  have  a  sermon  from  a  new  min 
ister.  We  want  it  bad,  you  know,  and  he's  goin' 
to  give  it  to  us.  Now  mind,  there's  to  be  no  laugh- 
in'  till  he's  done.  There, — set  him  up.  Stop  that 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  185 

hammer,  yonder!  Attention.  We're  ready.  Now 
go  on,  Stephen.  Fork  ahead." 

The  men,  most  of  them  much  amused,  had 
thrown  down  their  tools,  following  their  leader's 
fancy,  and  gathered  somewhat  together  around  the 
great  work  bench-on  one  end  of  which  Stephen  stood. 
The  little  boy  stood  bravely  there,  facing  his  tor 
mentors;  his  colour  rose,  but  he  kept  his  eyes  dry, 
with  an  effort  of  will,  and  fixed  them  on  Gordon ; 
who  had  thrown  himself  down  on  a  box  in  a  loung 
ing  attitude  and  was  eying  Stephen  with  eyelids 
scornfully  lowered  and  eyes  peeping  out  at  him 
from  under  them.  Wilkins  crouched  in  a  corner 
chuckling. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  say  to  you,  sir?" 
Stephen  managed  to  bring  out  calmly  at  last. 

"  Anything  you  like  ! "  said  Gordon  roughly. 
"Preachers  may  say  what  they  like,  you  know, 
and  nobody  takes  it  up  or  lays  it  agin  'em.  Fire 
away !  choose  your  own  text  and  handlin'." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  sir." 

"  Can't  choose  a  text  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  do 
that  fur  you  ?  Ef  I  choose  it,  you'll  hev  to  preach 
to  it;  that's  one  sure  thing." 

"  I  can't  preach,  sir." 

"  Needn't  be  modest.  We  won't  be  hard  on  ye, 
seein'  ye  air  a  rather  young  minister.  How  old 
mought  you  be,  Stephen,  anyhow?" 

"  Over  ten,  sir. 

"  Should  think  you  was  over  fifty !  Well,  go 
ahead.  Fire  up,  I  tell  ye  ! " 


186  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  can't  do  that,  sir." 

"  Can't  do  what  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  preach,  sir." 

"  Call  it  what  you  like.  Expoun'  then.  Do  what 
ever  you  did  in  the  woods  yesterday.  Come !  Get 
on.  We'll  be  tired  o'  waitin',  ef  you  don't  fire  up 
pretty  quick." 

"  I  can't  do  it,  sir,"  Stephen  repeated.  The  other 
swore  at  him. 

"  Curse  you,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  tell  you  to 
preach.  Do  it  how  you  like;  but  do  it;  and  don't 
stand  jabberin'  there." 

"  It  isn't  play,"  said  Stephen.  "  I  can't  do  it  in 
fun." 

"  Do  it  in  earnest !  "  the  other  said  with  an  oath. 

"No  sir,"  said  Stephen,  "it  would  be  fun  to  you; 
and  I  can't  do  it  in  fun." 

"  How  did  you  do  it  yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  earnest." 

"  Well  then,  you  fool,  be  in  earnest  now.  Mind 
you,  I  am.  I  order  you  to  do  it.  You'd  better  do 
it,  and  pretty  darned  shortly." 

"  I  can't  do  it  in  fun,  sir,"  Stephen  repeated  stead 
ily;  though  the  barometer  of  his  spirits  had  fallen 
very  low,  and  threatened  rainy  weather. 

"  Do  it  in  earnest ! "    Gordon  swore  at  him. 

"  I  don't  know  how." 

"  Look  here,  you  young  sarpent,"  said  Gordon. 
"  Either  you  was  makin'  believe  in  the  wood  yes 
terday,  or  you  meant  it  honest.  I  don't  care  a  red 
cent  which  way  'twas ;  only,  ef  you  was  makin'  be- 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  187 

lieve  then,  you  kin  do  it  agin;  and  ef  you  warn't, 
why  you  kin  be  as  much  in  earnest  as  you  please. 
We  wants  preachin'  to,  all  we  does,  I  guess,  as 
much  as  most  any  company  you'll  find.  We'll 
take  it  easy  from  you.  Fire  away ! — hit  hard,  ef 
you  kin;  the  harder  the  better.  'Twont  kill,  any 
way." 

Stephen  felt  himself  in  a  desperate  difficulty. 
Gordon  would  always  be  obeyed;  and  the  little 
consideration  that  he  was  commanding  beyond  the 
limits  of  his  authority,  though  Stephen  felt  it,  was 
a  consideration  he  could  not  well  urge.  Make  a 
joke  of  sacred  things,  however,  Stephen  would  not. 
What  to  do,  short  of  giving  way  to  a  helpless  fit  of 
tears,  which  would  win  no  sympathy,  he  was  greatly 
at  a  loss.  He  fought  off  the  tears ;  but  all  he  could 
do  further  was  to  face  his  tormentors  silently  and 
steadily.  Gordon  threatened,  swore,  jeered,  with 
out  effect.  At  last,  out  of  all  patienc,  he  adminis 
tered  a  box  on  the  ear  to  Stephen,  which  had  like 
to  have  occasioned  him  a  heavy  fall.  Stephen 
reeled  and  lost  his  balance,  and  in  another  minute 
would  have  measured  his  length  on  the  floor;  from 
which  he  was  saved  only  by  a  pair  of  strong  arms 
which  caught  him  as  he  toppled  over  and  set  him 
safely  on  his  feet.  The  little  boy  doubled  up  his 
knuckles  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes  for  a  moment; 
then  conquered  the  desire  to  cry,  and  took  up  his 
interrupted  work. 

"  You're  a  cool  one,  you  air ! "  said  one  of  the 
men,  with  some  admiration.  It  incensed  Gordon, 


188  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

who  made  the  remark  that  Stephen  "  wouldn't  be 
cool  when  he  had  done  with  him,"  and  went  off  up 
stairs. 

"  There  !  now  you'll  have  a  set-to  with  Gordon," 
exclaimed  Wilkins  with  feigned  sympathy.  "  My  ! 
aint  you  a  soft  head  though  !  " 

"  Let  the  boy  alone  !  "  growled  one  of  the  men, 
the  one  called  Nutts.  "Ef  you'd  ha'  held  your 
tongue,  there'd  ha  ben  some  mischief  saved." 

"  Folks  can't  hold  their  tongues,"  said  Wilkins. 
"  Warn't  made  to  be  held.  I've  tried,  and  I  can't 
do  it.  No  more  can  you,  Nutts.  But  aint  Stephen 
a  fool !  He'll  be  sendin'  fur  you,  Stephen,  next 
thing  you  know;  and  then — I  guess  I  wouldn't 
like  to  be  in  your  place  !  " 

What  this  meant  Stephen  could  not  imagine, 
nor  how  far  Mr.  Gordon's  power  might  extend. 
He  went  on  with  what  he  had  to  do,  in  a  divided 
state  of  mind,  with  some  fear  and  trembling  and 
sadness  of  heart,  which  did  not  make  his  fingers 
skilful  or  quick.  About  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon  there  came  a  call  for  him,  and  with  height 
ened  apprehension  Stephen  went  up  the  stairs. 

"Here!"  Gordon  cried; — "I  want  you  to  come 
here  and  hold  nails  for  me." 

Stephen  came  up  and  looked  at  the  work,  and 
at  the  nails  which  were  offered  him.  They  were 
not  large  nails.  He  doubted  some  evil. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  sha'n't  know  how  to  hold  'em, 
Mr.  Gordon,"  he  said. 

"  I'll  make  you  know ! "  the  other  said  shortly. 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  189 

"  Here,  take  the  box.  Now  hold  one  here — in  this 
place. — " 

Stephen  thought  workmen  always  held  their 
own  nails;  but  he  did  not  dare  say  so.  He 
crouched  down  by  the  piece  where  the  nails  were 
to  go,  and  held  one  as  directed.  He  winced  as 
the  heavy  hammer  came  down,  so  close  to  his 
fingers;  but  he  remembered  Gordon  was  a  skilled 
hand  and  could  no  doubt  strike  true. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"  Yes,  sir— a  little." 

"What  of?" 

"  Only,  I  thought,  if  your  hammer  should  slip — 
but  I  suppose  it  couldn't." 

"Why  couldn't  it?" 

"  I  suppose  you  know  how  to  strike  right,  sir." 

"  Ah  I  I  suppose  I  do.  But  there's  this  pecooli- 
arity  about  me;  when  anybody  don't  do  what  I 
tell  him,  I  get  angry,  you  see,  and  then  when  I'm 
angry  I  don't  see  straight;  and  then  the  hammer 
comes  down  sometimes  in  the  wrong  place — Ah ! 
I  told  you  so,  didn't  I  ?  Hit  you,  did  it  ?  " 

For  Stephen  had  uttered  a  sharp  cry  and  pulled 
away  his  hand. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?  Come — another 
nail !  "  Gordon  swore  at  him.  "  Another  ! — do 
you  hear  ? " 

Stephen  strove  with  the  passionate  desire  to  sob, 
and  presently  obeyed.  But  this  time  the  hammer 
came  down  on  the  finger  already  bruised,  and  the 
little  boy's  voice  was  raised  in  another  cry  of  pain. 


190  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Go  on  !  "  said  Gordon  roughly.  "  I  told  you 
BO.  I  can't  help  it.  Give  me  another." 

"  I  can't,  sir !  "  said  Stephen,  rubbing  and  holding 
nis  hurt  hand. 

"  I  can't  wait  for  you  to  have  your  cry  out. 
fake  the  other  hand.  Do  as  I  tell  you,  and  do  it 
quick !— " 

Uncertain  if  the  man's  meaning  were  sinister 
or  only  brutal,  uncertain  whether  evil  had  been 
meant  or  no,  not  seeing  his  way  to  successful  dis 
obedience,  Stephen  obeyed.  Nursing  his  right 
hurt  hand,  he  with  his  left  held  the  nails,  in  fear 
and  trembling  at  every  descent  of  the  hammer. 
It  descended  in  safety  several  times,  and  Stephen's 
eyes  were  too  painfully  fixed  on  it,  or  rather  on 
the  spot  where  it  ought  to  light,  to  see  an  evil 
smile  which  gathered  on  Gordon's  lips. 

"It's  safe,  you  may  take  my  word  for't,  to  du 
what  I  tell  ye,  young  man.  They  all  knows  it, 
and  regulates  their  calkilations  accordingly.  I 
aint  a  goin'  to  be  challenged  by  a  shaver  like  you, 
at  this  time  o'  day.  You  will  think  better  of  it,  I 
guess,  and  du  what  I  <tells  ye  to-morrer.  Hey  ? '' 

"  I'll  do  what  I  can,  sir,"  said  the  little  boy. 

"Wall,  eyther  you're  a  precious  make-believe, 
or  a  precious  fool.  I  don't  care  a  red  cent  which 
'tis,  but  I'm  goin'  to  find  out.  So  you'll  come  to 
morrer,  and  stan'  up  there  and  preach  your  ser 
mon ;  that  you'll  du.  What  you  could  du  Sunday, 
you  kin  du  Monday.  There  !  " — 

But  with  the  last  word  and  by  way  of  emphasis, 


GORDON'S  DISCIPLINE.  191 

came  down  Gordon's  hammer  heavily  on  Stephen's 
left  thumb.  The  boy  drew  it  hastily  away,  with 
again  a  smothered  cry.  Gordon  half  laughed. 

"Hit  you  agin,  did  I?  Sorry  fur  it; — that's 
what  happens  somehow  when  I  gits  riled  at  folks. 
There !  don't  shout  about  it.  Take  yourself  off, 
and  be  quiet,  d'ye  hear?"  Gordon  said  with  strong 
emphasis.  "  And  come  with  your  sermon  to-mor- 
rer.  Go  along,  boy  !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   CHAPTEK. 

QTEPHEN  was  a  manly  little  fellow  for  his 
O  years;  at  the  same  time,  his  years  did  not  yet 
number  eleven ;  and  he  had  had  rather  more  than 
he  could  bear.  It  was  not  the  pain  alone,  though 
his  fingers  were  badly  bruised;  he  could  have  stood 
that.  It  was  the  sense  of  wrong;  the  feeling  of 
being  oppressed;  the  feeling  of  helplessness  and 
loneliness,  which  broke  his  heart.  His  fortitude 
gave  way;  he  sobbed  bitterly,  though  quietly,  as 
he  made  his  way,  rather  groping  than  seeing  it, 
down  the  stairs  and  hid  himself  in  a  corner.  What 
was  to  become  of  him  ?  The  question  was  in  his 
heart,  although  just  now  he  could  really  consider 
nothing;  hurt  feeling,  bodily  and  mental,  and 
something  like  despair,  strove  with  rage  in  him. 
And  the  feeling  of  impotent  rage  is  itself  torment 
enough.  He  hid  himself  as  far  as  he  could,  behind 
a  piece  of  furniture  at  one  side,  and  gave  way  to 
tears  and  sobs  which  he  smothered  as  far  as  he 
was  able.  He  was  not  able  quite  to  conceal  him 
self  or  them.  Wilkins  looked  over  towards  him 
with  a  malicious  grin. 
(192) 


A  CHAPTER.  193 

"He's  got  it!"  he  remarked.  "I  thought  he 
wouldn't  git  offjes'  so  easy!  " 

"  It's  a  dirty  shame,  it  is  !  "  said  the  man  nearest 
him.  "The  little  chap  hadn't  done  nothin'.  That's 
what  I  calls  ty-ranny  and  oppression.  There  had 
ought  to  be  some  law  about  sich  things.  Guess 
there  is,  come  to  find  out." 

"  I'd  like  to  hear  you  tell  Gordon  so,  jest." 

"Ef  I  begin,  I'll  tell  him  more  things'n  one;  that 
you  may  take  your  affidavy." 

The  man  worked  his  way  to  Stephen's  neighbour 
hood. 

"  Don't  ye  take  on,  sonny ! "  he  said  softly. 
"There's  a  lot  o'  things  goes  wrong  in  this  ram 
shacklous  world ;  you've  got  to  take  your  turn.  Hold 
up  your  head  like  a  man !  and  disappint  'em  all." 

"  If  I  was  a  man,  I  would, — "  said  Stephen. 

"  Wall,  hold  on,  and  you'll  be  a  man  in  no  time. 
It  comes  fast  enough.  What's  to  pay,  eh?" 

But  Stephen  did  not  say,  nor  explain  himself 
further;  and  Mr.  Nutts,  having  shewn  his  sympa 
thy,  moved  off  again.  Neither  did  Stephen  make 
any  sort  of  complaint  when  he  went  home  at  night. 
He  was  later  than  usual;  indeed  it  had  been  a  diffi 
cult  job  for  him  to  get  his  evening  work  done  at  all. 
Jonto  had  his  supper  waiting  for  him. 

"What's  kep'  ye?"  she  asked. 

"  I  came  just  as  quick  as  I  could,  Jonto." 

"I'll  be  boun'!  But  you'se  right  smart  late. 
Here's  your  victuals  now, — nice  and  hot,  and  hot 
and  nice  dey  be;  see  if  dey  aint,  now!  I  shouldn't 


194  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

wonder  if  dey  had  gone  and  put  some'fin  mo'  on 
yon,  now,  aint  dey,  honey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jonto,"  said  Stephen.  But  he  did  not  tell 
her  what.  He  found  he  must  handle  his  knife  and 
fork  awkwardly,  his  thumbs  were  so  sore  and  swol 
len. 

"  Den  you'se  too  tired  to  read  me  a  bit  by'm'by?" 
Jonto  went  on.  "  I'd  sort  o'  set  my  mouf  fur  some  o' 
dat  readin'.  Tears  like  one  feels  oncommon  wicked 
Borne  days,  'thout  any  particlar  reason ;  guess  Sa 
tan  is  temptin'  me,  sure;  fur  I  feels  wonnerful 
cross.  Hab  all  day !  Jes'  want  to  do  somefm  to 
somebody,  what  aint  in  de  Bible;  and  what  are  in 
de  Bible  do  seem  to  be  up  over  my  head,  somehow. 
I'd  like  to  hear  a  bit  what  are  in  dar ;  fur  I  gits  all 
mixed  up." 

"  Yes,  Jonto,  so  do  I,"  said  little  Stephen  with  a 
sigh.  "  I'll  read  to  you  presently." 

Jonto  thought  by  his  manner  that  maybe  things 
had  gone  hard  with  him  too;  and  she  waited  on  him 
tenderly.  When  he  had  done,  Stephen  got  his  Bi 
ble,  while  Jonto  cleared  the  table.  Then  she  sat 
down,  in  ready  expectancy,  at  one  end,  while  the 
little  boy  drew  the  lamp  to  his  Bible  at  the  other. 

"  What  shall  I  read,  Jonto  ?  " 

"  Anythin'  ye  like.  It's  sort  o'  like  all  honey  to 
me,  when  dar  aint  nuffin'  else  sweet  in  de  Varsal 
creation.  Kead  jes'  what  you  come  to,  boy." 

So  it  seemed  to  Stephen,  all  sweet,  as  he  turned 
the  leaves  over;  a  treasury  of  sweetness;  only  he 
did  not  know  which  particular  drop  he  was  most  in 


A  CHAPTER.  195 

need  of  just  then.  Two  or  three  questions  were 
troubling  him,  and  pressing  in  uncertainty  for  him 
to  make  up  his  mind.  What  should  he  do  with 
Gordon's  command  and  threat  ?  Should  he  stand 
up  on  the  work  bench  in  the  factory  yonder  and 
make  believe  preach  a  sermon  to  the  men  ?  Ste 
phen's  soul  revolted  from  the  idea.  Should  he  do 
what  was  required  of  him  in  sober  earnest  ?  He, 
a  little  boy,  with  his  ignorance  and  inexperience, 
could  he  in  earnestness  deliver  the  Lord's  message 
to  those  men  ?  Stephen  did  not  feel  himself  com 
missioned  to  do  any  such  thing.  What  then  ? 
Should  he  face  Gordon's  anger  and  bear  the  con 
sequences  of  it?  He  did  not  think  he  could  bear  it. 
He  should  give  way  and  shout  and  cry  in  his  mis 
ery;  and  his  courage  failed  him  to  face  all  that. 
And  when  and  where  would  the  end  be  ?  For  the 
matter  of  that,  there  was  yet  another  question ;  how 
far  might  Mr.  Gordon's  demands  go  ?  If  Stephen 
yielded  this  one  point,  was  it  at  all  certain  that  the 
matter  would  so  be  disposed  of? 

That  there  was  a  very  short  way  out  of  his  dim" 
culties,  if  he  complained,  Stephen  was  sure.  Let 
him  tell  Jonto  what  had  been  done,  or  explain  to 
Posie  the  condition  of  his  thumbs;  and  Stephen 
was  very  certain  a  remedy  would  be  found  for  his 
troubles  that  would  be  effectual.  But  his  whole 
manly  little  soul  rebelled  against  helping  himself 
so.  He  despised  tale-bearers,  and  cowardly  ways 
of  getting  out  of  difficulty  by  getting  other  people  in. 
He  had  a  genuine  self-respect  which  forbade  him 


196  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

to  say  one  word;  and  he  had  been  quite  determined 
that  the  battle  should  be  fought  out  as  it  might, 
only  without  anything  which  should  derogate  from 
that  manly  self-respect.  And  yet,  there  burnt  in 
him  a  feeling  of  indignation  which  would  like  to 
be  avenged,  and  of  injustice  which  cried  for  right 
ing;  he  was  exceedingly  angry  at  Mr.  Gordon  and 
Wilkins,  and  incensed  at  the  other  men,  of  whom 
none  had  offered  to  help  or  shelter  him.  In  this 
very  mixed  state  of  mind  he  now  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  his  mother's  Bible.  Instinctively  he  sought 
the  New  Testament,  and  the  leaves  falling  apart 
naturally  at  a  place  where  they  had  been  often  open, 
Stephen  accepted  that  indication  and  read  there. 
The  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  chapters  of  John  were 
on  those  pages.  Stephen  chose  the  latter. 

" '  I  am  the  true  vine,  and  my  Father  is  the  hus 
bandman.' " 

"  Dat  ar's  certainly  good ! "  said  Jonto,  with-  a 
long  breath  of  content. 

"  '  Every  branch  in  me  that  beareth  not  fruit,  ha 
taketh  away;  and  every  branch  that  beareth  fruit, 
he  purgeth  it,  that  it  may  bring  forth  more  fruit.' — 
What  is  the  fruit,  Jonto  ?  " 

"Clar,  honey,  I  don'  know  nuffin  'bout  'spoundin' ; 
— T  spect  it's  de  fruit  ob  de  Spirit," 

"  The  fruit  of  the  Spirit—"  Stephen  repeated. 

"Reckon  'tis,  chile.  Dat  ar's  'lub,  joy,  peace,' 
and  all  de  rest.  Dat  sort  aint  de  fruit  ob  nuffin 
in  us;  dat  comes  from  de  Vine,  it  do." 

"  Love,  joy,  peace  " — said  Stephen,  again  repeat- 


A  CHAPTER.  197 

ing  Jonto's  words  slowly.    "I  don't  hardly  see  how 
that  fruit's  to  grow  sometimes,  Jon  to." 

"Don't  ye,  honey?  Is  you  got  into  a  place 
where  it  don't  seem  to  come  easy?  'Taint  hard 
to  de  Lord,  my  dear." 

"What  does  the  'purging'  mean?  'He  purgeth 
it  that  it  may  bring  forth  more  fruit.'  How,  Jonto." 

"  Don'  know.  Dar  is  so  many  ways.  But  it's 
trouble,  for  sure.  De  trouble  is  to  make  de  lub 
and  joy  and  peace  grow  better.  Dat's  it,  I  reckon." 

"How  can  it?" 

Jonto  discerned  an  anxious  questioning  and 
trouble  in  the  small  face  raised  towards  her,  and 
began  an  instant  speculation  as  to  what  could 
be  the  cause.  She  went  on  talking  slowly  and 
watching. 

"  Well,  you  see,  honey,  when  t'ings  is  all  easy 
and  pleasant,  we  t'inks  we  kin  git  along  widout 
our  good  Lord ;  and  we  gits  fur  off  from  him ;  and 
den  aint  a  good  time  fur  lub  and  joy  and  peace. 
Den  de  good  Lord  he  send  trouble;  and  we  gits 
into  rough  places,  like ;  and  den,  we*  finds  we  can't 
git  along  nohow  widout  him.  So  den,  when  He 
comes  back  to  us,  dar  he  brings  back  de  lub  and 
joy  and  de  peace,  more'n  ever.  Reckon  it's  some 
how  dat  a- way,  honey." 

"When  He  comes,"  said  Stephen.  "Is  that 
what  trouble  is  for  ?  " 

"  Reckon  'tis,  honey." 

"All  sorts?"  said  Stephen. 

"I  don'  know,"  said  Jonto.     "But  de  good  Lord, 


198  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

he  wouldn't  let  no  harm  come  to  his  chil'en,  dat's 
sure.  An'  if  he  do  let  trouble  come,"  she  went  on, 
looking  at  Stephen's  face,  "  he'll  help  us  t'rough." 

Stephen  went  on  with  his  reading,  and  Jonto 
not  only  listened  but  watched.  He  went  on  as 
far  as  the  eighth  verse.  "Herein  is  my  Father 
glorified,  that  ye  bear  much  fruit;  so  shall  ye  be 
my  disciples." — 

"That  means,  have  a  great  deal  of  love,  and 
peace,  and  joy?"  said  Stephen. 

"An'  all  the  rest,"  said  Jonto.  "Dat  ar'  aint 
all.  But  I  reckon,  if  anybody's  filled  wid  de  lub 
and  de  peace  and  de  joy,  dar  will  all  de  rest  come 
after.  He'll  act  so.  Folks  can't  have  lub  in  deir 
hearts  and  carry  on  as  if  dey  hated  everybody;  an' 
if  dey's  got  peace,  dey  won't  want  to  be  quarrel 
some.  What  is  you  t'inkin'  ob,  honey?" 

But  instead  of  answering,  Stephen  read  on,  which 
was  easier.  He  read  on  till  he  came  to  the  nine 
teenth  and  twentieth  verses. 

"  '  If  ye  were  of  the  world,  the  world  would  love 
his  own ;  but  because  ye  are  not  of  the  world,  but  I 
have  chosen  you  out  of  the  world,  therefore  the  world 
hateth  you.  Kemember  the  word  that  I  said  unto 
you,  The  servant  is  not  greater  than  his  lord.  If 
they  have  persecuted  me,  they  will  also  persecute 
you;  if  they  have  kept  my  saying,  they  will  keep 
yours  also.' — What  is  the  '  world,'  Jonto  ?  " 

"  Dat's  all  de  rest  o'  de  folks,  chile,  what  don't 
belong  to  de  kingdom." 

"And  do  they  hate  the  others?  " 


A  CHAPTER.  199 

"  De  Lord's  people  ?     Eeckon  dey  do." 

"Why?" 

"  Nebber  could  make  dat  out,  honey.  Tears  like 
dey  hadn't  110  'casion;  but  no  mo'  dey  hadn't  to 
hate  de  Lord  hisself;  and  dey  hated  him  wuss'n 
all.  Reckon  dat's  why  dey  hates  us,  'cause  dey 
hates  him.  I  nebber  could  make  out  no  sense  into 
it;  but  dar!  de  debbil's  chil'en  hasn't  no  sense. 
Who's  a  hatin'  you,  honey  ?  " 

Stephen  did  not  speak  immediately,  nor  answer 
her  when  he  did  speak. 

"  I  don't  understand,  Jonto." 

"What  den?" 

"  About  love  and  peace — " 

"Don't  ye?  Den  you'll  hab  to  ax  de  Lord. 
He'll  tell  ye." 

Stephen  presently  read  the  next  following  words, 
— "  '  But  all  these  things  will  they  do  unto  you  for 
my  name's  sake,  because  they  know  not  him  that 
sent  me.'  What  things  did  they  do,  Jonto  ?  " 

"  Spect'  'twas  all  kinds  o'  hatefulness;  but  'clar, 
honey,  I  doesn't  jes'  know.  Dey  kill  de  dear  Lord 
hisselt;  so  I  reckon  dey  warn't  particlar  'bout 
what  dey  did  to  his  chil'en." 

Stephen  mused  a  little  more  over  the  words,  and 
then  said  he  believed  he  would  go  to  bed. 

"  You'se  tireder  wuss'n  usual  ? "  said  Jonto 
curiously. 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Stephen  sighing.  But  he  went  off 
to  his  room  without  any  more  words;  and  Jonto 
got  no  more  light  on  the  matter.  He  went  hug- 


200  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

ging  his  little  Bible  in  his  arms.  What  comfort 
"was  not  that  book  to  him !  Even  now,  in  this 
reading,  the  fact  that  had  come  out  clear  to  St*» 
phen's  vision,  the  fact  that  his  being  a  little  Chris 
tian  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  ill  treatment  to 
which  he  had  been  subjected,  was  a  rare  support 
and  help.  For  Christ's  sake;  then  it  behoved  him 
to  suffer  as  a  Christian  and  honour  the  name  and 
the  cause ;  and  that  he  saw  would  be  best  done  by 
his  keeping  fast  possession  of  "love  and  peace." 
Joy,  he  thought,  must  be  for  the  present  left  out 
of  the  question.  And  yet,  when  he  had  made  his 
short  prayer,  a  little  longer  to-night  than  usual, 
and  laid  himself  down  in  his  comfortable  little  bed, 
there  came  a  singular  sweet  feeling  into  Stephen's 
inind.  He  had  not  looked  for  it,  but  it  was  there, 
yet  what  it  was  he  could  not  easily  have  told.  I 
believe  it  was  the  sense  of  fellowship  with  his  Sa 
viour.  It  came  home  to  him,  that  he  was  suffering 
for  Christ's  sake,  and  because  the  people  who 
troubled  him  did  not  know  the  Lord;  and  pity  for 
them  mingled  with  this  wonderful  sweetness  in 
his  own  heart.  Yes,  above  all  things  he  must  do 
nothing  to  make  the  name  of  Christian  less  fair  or 
more  suspicious  in  their  eyes  than  it  was  at  present. 
And  though  his  thumbs  were  aching,  Stephen  fell 
asleep. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
VOGUE  LA  GAL£KE. 

THE  next  morning,  however,  I  will  not  say  that 
the  waking  was  as  pleasant  as  the  going  to 
sleep  had  been.  Stephen  looked  forward  to  the 
day  with  doubt  and  heart-beating.  What  would 
Gordon  do?  and  how  much  could  he  stand?  those 
were  the  two  points  with  which  his  mind  was 
busy.  His  thumbs  were  swollen  and  sore  and 
unusable ;  what  if  he  were  required  to  hold  nails 
again,  and  if  that  cruel  hammer  were  again  to 
emphasize  its  owner's  displeasure?  Stephen  hardly 
knew  how  to  face  the  thought.  If  Cranmer  and 
Savonarola,  and  others  like  them;  good  men  and 
true,  but  gifted  by  nature  with  a  fearful  suscepti 
bility  to  pain;  if  they  could  give  way  for  a  moment 
under  the  pressure  of  torture,  what  wonder  if  a 
little  child  like  Stephen  should  shake  at  the  fear  of 
a  carpenter's  hammer,  even  with  no  stake  and  fire 
pile  beyond  it.  Stephen  did  not  know  how  things 
would  go  with  him ;  he  could  only  pray.  It  may  be 
thought,  the  thing  asked  of  him  was  not  after  all 
BO  very  difficult;  the  answer  is,  that  to  Stephen 

(20D 


202  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

it  was  not  difficult  but  impossible.  He  could 
not  preach  to  the  workmen  in  the  factory,  making 
earnest  of  it;  and  he  equally  could  not,  making- 
jest  of  it.  He  went  down  and  kindled  the  fire  as 
usual;  went  over  to  the  factory,  and  with  much 
difficulty  did  his  morning  work  there,  putting  the 
place  in  order;  for  he  could  grasp  nothing  with  his 
thumbs,  and  so  went  awkwardly  and  slowly  about 
what  he  had  to  do.  It  followed  that  he  was  late 
at  breakfast. 

"What's  kep'  you  so,  boy?"  said  Jonto.  "Here's 
your  cakes  mighty  old,  waitin'  for  you.  Dey's  done 
ruined !  " 

"  0  no,  Jonto,  they're  so  nice."  Stephen  spoke 
heartily;  nevertheless  Jonto  thought  she  discerned 
an  unwonted  shadow  on  the  frank  fine  little  face. 
She  had  done  her  breakfast,  and  so  was  at  leisure 
to  look. 

"  What's  come  to  your  thumb  ? "  she  said  sud 
denly. 

"  Oh — that  was  the  hammer — "  said  Stephen  in 
some  embarrassment,  hiding  his  other  hand  under 
the  table. 

"  Dat  ar's  your  right  han' — what  was  you  doin' 
wid  de  hammer  in  de  oder?" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Jonto."  Stephen  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  not  to  cry ;  so  near  approach  of 
sympathy  unmanned  him. 

"  Let's  look  at  it,  boy."— 

Stephen  must  submit  to  have  her  examine  into 
the  condition  of  that  hand.  Jonto  gave  an  inde- 


VOGUE  LA  GAL£RE.  203 

terminate  grunt,  which  no  doubt  expressed  her 
own  feelings,  though  it  did  not  convey  to  any 
third  person  the  intimation  what  they  were;  and 
then  went  off,  as  she  said,  to  get  some  "  stuff  from 
de  missus,"  which  was  good  for  such  hurts.  Next 
thing  came  Posie  flying  in,  and  insisting  on  also 
making  an  examination  of  Stephen's  fingers.  But 
Posie  demanded  to  see  both  thumbs,  and  went  fly 
ing  back  to  her  father  before  Jon  to  had  got  her 
"stuff'"  and  come  away. 

"Pa,  pa!"  cried  the  little  girl,— " Stephen  has 
hurt  himself;  his  thumbs  are  all  black  and  blue  and 
swelled." 

"  Ah  1 "  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook, — "  I  dare  say. 
That  is  the  way  with  boys,  Posie ;  they  are  always 
getting  themselves  smashed  up  " 

"  Smashed  up,  pa  ?     Why  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  !     It  is  the  manner  of  boys." 

"  But  he  can't  work,  pa." 

"I  guess  he  can." 

4  Pa,  he  can't  I  his  thumbs  are  all  black  and  blue, 
and  dreadful." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  how  they  came  to  be  in  such  a 
condition  ?  " 

"It  was  a  hammer  came  down  on  'em,  he  said; 
a  heavy  hammer." 

"  Ah !  Came  down  on  both  thumbs  at  once, 
hey  ?  How  could  that  be,  Posie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Maybe  it  wasn't  both  at  once, 
pa." 

"  Maybe  it  wasn't.     I  should  say,  probably  not. 


204  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

Then  ask  Stephen  how  he  came  to  be  handling  a 
heavy  hammer  in  his  left  hand  ?  " 

"But  pa,  he  can't  work;  his  hands  are  too  bad." 

"He  should  have  been  more  careful,  then.  If  I 
were  to  let  Stephen  off  from  work  because  he  has 
pounded  his  fingers,  the  next  thing  would  be  Wil- 
kins  coming  to  me  with  a  scratch  or  a  bruise  of 
some  sort  and  begging  that  he  might  be  let  off. 
Don't  you  see,  Posie  ?  " 

"  Stephen  don't  want  to  be  let  off  from  work,  pa.' 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  it  ?  " 

"  Because  /  want  him  to  be  let  off.  I  know  his 
hands  hurt  him  awfully ;  and  I  want  him  to  go  and 
sail  boats  with  me.  Do,  pa !  " 

"  I  hope  you  won't,  Mr.  Hardenbrook !  "  said  his 
wife.  "  Posie  will  just  get  herself  all  mussed  up 
again.  And  it  seems  to  me,  your  factory  boys  are 
not  just  the  best  company  for  her."  With  a  su 
perior  air. 

"  But  ma,  he's  so  hurt ! "  said  the  little  girl,  al 
most  crying. 

"Come,  come,"  said  her  father;  "we'll  go  to  the 
kitchen  and  see  what  all  this  amounts  to.  You 
are  not  accustomed  to  boys'  ways,  Posie ;  you  don't 
know  how  little  they  care  for  knocks  and  bruises." 

However  when  Mr.  Hardenbrook  came  to  the 
kitchen  and  saw  Stephen's  thumbs  he  did  look 
grave,  not  to  say  severe. 

"  How  did  this  happen,  sir  ? "  he  asked,  as  Ste 
phen  unwillingly  held  forth  his  hands  for  exami 
nation  and  Posie  cried  appealingly  to  her  father. 


VOGUE    LA    GALERE.  205 

"They  got  pounded — "  Stephen  said,  not  too 
distinctly. 

"With  what?" 

"A  hammer,  sir." 

"And  how  came  you  to  pound  both  thumbs,  one 
after  another  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  sir." 

"Seems  to  me  that  is  a  very  stupid  answer, 
Stephen.  Why  couldn't  you  help  it  ?  " 

Stephen  was  silent.  He  felt  that  this  was  rather 
hard. 

"  Pa,  he  carit  work  ?  "  reiterated  Fosie  in  plead 
ing  tones.  "  He  can't;  they're  too  bad,  pa." 

"  Does  Mr.  Gordon  know  about  this  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Tell  Mr.  Gordon  that  if  he  thinks  proper  to  let 
you  off  from  work,  I  am  willing." 

"Yes,  sir." 

But  Mr.  Hardenbrook  was  quick  enough  to  dis 
cern  that  the  boy's  tone  had  no  joy  in  it  and  no 
expectancy. 

"Aren't  you  and  Mr.  Gordon  on  good  terms?" 

"  No,  sir.     At  least — he  don't  like  me." 

"  You  like  him,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Stephen  hesitated,  and  then  said  low,  "No,  sir." 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughed. 

"No  love  lost,  hey?"  said  he.  "Why  don't  he 
like  you,  boy  ?  " 

Stephen  was  in  great  difficulty.  "I  would  rather 
not  tell,"  he  said  at  length. 

"Hey?     What?     You  would  rather  not  tell? 


206  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Have  you  been   doing  something  to  make  him 
angry  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  that  was  not  what  I  expected  of  you, 
somehow,  Stephen,"  Mr.  Hardenbrook  said  gently. 

It  was  more  than  the  little  boy  could  stand.  If 
he  could  have  righted  himself !  But  he  felt,  with 
a  fine  sense  of  what  was  manly  as  well  as  what 
was  Christian,  that  it  did  not  become  him  to  be  an 
informant  against  his  superior  or  his  fellows,  in  a 
matter  that  did  not  concern  his  employer's  interests. 
He  must  let  it  pass  and  submit  to  unrighteous  mis- 
judgment;  and  the  kind  tone  of  sorrow  in  which 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  spoke,  broke  his  heart.  He  was 
unable  to  bear  it ;  he  turned  away  and  laid  his  head 
in  his  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  burst 
into  tears.  They  were  quiet  tears,  however. 

"  Papa,"  said  Posie  indignantly,  "  Stephen  hasn't 
done  anything  bad !  " 

"  Let  him  tell  me  so,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook. 

Stephen  heard  that,  swallowed  his  tears,  and 
faced  round  again,  with  a  wet  face  to  be  sure,  but 
steadfast.  "  Well  I  haven't,  sir,"  he  said. 

Truth  has  a  way  of  proving  itself,  and  some 
how  Mr.  Hardenbrook  believed  the  boy  on  the 
instant. 

"Then  why  cannot  you  tell  me  all  about  it?" 
he  asked  kindly. 

"I  don't  think  — I  had  better,"  Stephen  said 
hesitatingly. 

"  Well,  come  along,"  said  the  master.     "  I  don't 


VOGUE  LA  GAL£RE.  207 

think  you  are  in  condition  to  do  much  to-day;  let 
me  see  Mr.  Gordon." 

They  crossed  the  yard  and  met  the  foreman  just 
at  the  door  of  the  factory. 

"Gordon,  this  fellow  is  hardly  fit  for  work  to 
day.  He  has  got  his  thumbs  well  'mashed.  I 
think  you  had  better  let  him  oft'  till  his  fingers 
are  in  condition  to  take  hold  of  something." 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  noticed  the  quick  look  that 
went  from  the  man's  eyes  to  Stephen ;  there  was 
dislike  in  it,  and  suspicion,  and  also,  he  was  sure, 
there  was  something  like  quick  apprehension. 

"  For  all  I  care,"  he  answered  doggedly.  "  He's 
no  good  in  the  place  anyhow  !  " 

"  Perhaps  not  much  now,  but  under  your  teach 
ing  he  will  be.  Well  Stephen,  run  off,  and  let 
Posie  have  what  she  has  been  crying  for.  How 
did  the  boy  get  his  hands  in  such  a  way  ? "  ho 
went  on  as  Stephen  was  out  of  hearing.  "  Both 
his  thumbs ! " 

"It's  been  corn  to  his  mill,"  said  Gordon.  "/ 
don't  know.  They'll  be  getting  another  mashing 
in  a  day  or  two,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

Stephen  however  with  a  lightened  heart  went 
back  to  Posie  and  told  her  the  news.  And  with 
no  more  delay  the  two  children  forthwith  set  out 
for  the  meadow.  Posie  had  put  on  her  little  white 
sunbonnet,  and  Stephen  carried  the  little  mimic 
boats  which  had  by  this  time  been  furnished  with 
masts.  Other  furniture  they  had  none.  A  fiat  bit 
of  thin  wood,  cut  at  one  end  to  a  pretty  sharp  bow, 


208  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

and  at  the  other  neatly  rounded  off  for  the  stern, 
and  with  a  mast  stuck  somewhere  in  the  middle; 
that  was  all  that  Stephen's  skill  in  ship-building 
as  yet  had  attained  to ;  but  to  the  blessed  eyes  of 
eight  and  ten  years  old  they  were  most  elegant 
models  of  naval  architecture.  Down  the  road  went 
the  children,  in  the  fair  lustre  of  the  April  sun,  with 
light  feet  and  light  hearts  and  tripping  tongues, 
talking  to  one  another. 

"Did  Mr.  Gordon  say  you  might  come,  Ste 
phen?" 

"  Yes.     Said,  ' for  all  he  cared.' " 

"That  was  because  pa  spoke  to  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen;  "but  I  guess  it  was  be 
cause  God  is  so  good." 

"  Why,  what  had  God  to  do  with  it?  It  was  pa 
spoke  to  Mr.  Gordon." 

"Well  Posie,  I  don't  know;  but  God  has  to  do 
with  everything;  and  every  good  thing  comes 
from  him." 

"  Who  do  the  bad  things  come  from  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I  guess  they  come  from  the 
devil." 

"Who's  he?" 

"Well. I  don't  know  exactly;  but  he  was  an 
angel  once ;  a  great,  beautiful,  glorious  angel ;  and 
then  he  disobeyed  God;  and  then  he  fell." 

"Where  did  he  fall  to ?" 

"01  don't  know.  He  had  to  go  away  from 
heaven,  and  he  wasn't  an  angel  any  more ;  or  if  he 
was,  he  was  a  sort  of  a  black  angel;  he  lost  his 


VOGUE  LA  GAL£RE.  209 

beauty  and  his  goodness,  and  though  he  is  strong, 
for  he  is  very  strong,  he  has  no  power  but  over 
bad  people." 

"  Is  the  devil  alive  ?  "  asked  Posie  in  some  awe. 

"  0  yes,  to  be  sure  he  is." 

"  And  has  he  power  now  over  people  ?  " 

"Over  bad  people." 

"  Who  are  bad  people  ?     People  in  jail  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Stephen  slowly,  "I  guess  he  has 
power  over  everybody  but  the  people  that  Jesus 
takes  care  of." 

"  What  does  he  do  to  'em  ?  " 

"  First  he  makes  'em  worse  and  worse.  He  gets 
them  to  do  wrong  things — all  sorts  of  wrong 
things — to  cheat,  and  to  lie,  and  to  be  angry,  and 
to  be  unkind;  and  all  sorts  of  wrong  things;  every 
sort.  And  then,  when  he  has  got  them  to  be  bad 
enough, — then  Posie,"  said  Stephen  speaking  sol 
emnly,  "  there  is  no  place  for  them  to  be  but  with 
the  devil  always.  They  cannot  be  with  God  in 
heaven,  for  they  do  not  love  him;  and  they  are 
just  lost." 

"My  pa  never  told  me  about  all  this,"  said 
Posie. 

"But  it  is  true,"  said  Stephen,  "for  it  is  in  the 
Bible." 

"  You  are  sure,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  0  yes,  Posie.  God  tells  people  the  truth,  and 
the  Bible  is  his  word." 

"  And  can't  the  people  get  away  from  the  devil, 
if  they  want  to  ?  " 


210  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"They  can,  if  they  ask  Jesus  to  help  them.  He 
came  to  save  those  that  were  lost.  That  was  the 
very  thing  he  came  for." 

"Came  where  ?  " 

"Here, — he  came  here.  He  came  and  taught 
the  people,  and  then  he  died  for  them." 

"  Did  he  come  here,  to  Cowslip  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't  think  it  was  just  in  this  place;  it 
was  a  good  way  off." 

"  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  " 

"He  came  from  heaven;  there  is  where  he  lived. 
He  is  the  Son  of  God.  And  he  came  here  to  save 
that  which  was  lost." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  lost,  Stephen  ? "  said  lit 
tle  Posie  very  seriously.  Stephen  stopped  short 
in  the  road,  though  they  were  very  near  the 
meadow. 

"0  Posie,  won't  you  let  Jesus  save  you?" 

"  Has  he  saved  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen  nodding;  "I  love  him.  He 
is  my  Saviour." 

"And  then  that  bad  angel  has  no  power  over 
you  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Stephen  shaking  his  head,  "because 
Jesus  takes  care  of  me,  and  he  has  promised  to  take 
care  of  me  always." 

"Do  you  think,"  said  Posie,  with  slow  emphatic 
utterance; — "  do — you — think,  that  black  angel  has 
power  over  me  ?  " 

Stephen  looked  at  the  bright  little  figure,  and 
looked  away,  and  his  eyes  came  back  again. 


VOGUE  LA  GALORE.  211 

"  Didn't  he  make  you  tell  a  story  the  other  day, 
Posie?" 

Posie  looked  at  her  questioner  in  a  maze,  and 
then  answered  very  decidedly.  "No,  he  didn't 
make  me.  I  did  it  myself." 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for?" 

"  1  didn't  tell  a  story!     I  didn't  say  anything." 

"But  it  was  just  the  same.  What  did  you  do  it 
for,  Posie  ?  " 

"  1  didn't  want  mother  to  make  a  fuss !  She 
always  makes  a  fuss.  It  wasn't  any  harm." 

Stephen  did  not  at  all  want  to  get  into  a  discus 
sion  with  Posie;  so  instead  of  answering  he  turned 
off  to  the  place  in  the  fence  where  it  was  easy  to 
get  through,  and  he  arid  Posie  crossed  into  the 
meadow.  It  was  sunny  and  dry  this  morning, 
though  still  so  early ;  there  had  been  no  dew  in  the 
night,  and  the  springing  grass  was  pleasant  to  the 
feet.  Posie,  however,  intent  as  she  was  upon  the 
sport  in  hand,  was  also,  woman  like,  intent  upon 
making  her  side  good. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  a  little  white  lie  that  morn 
ing,  and  save  all  the  fuss?  "  she  asked. 

"  There  are  no  white  lies,  Posie." 

"Yes  there  are.  Mother  says  there  are.  She 
says  a  white  lie  sometimes  when  she  wants  to  make 
me  do  something." 

"  But  don't  you  know,  Posie,  the  Bible  says  the 
devil  is  the  father  of  lies.  Mother  shewed  me  the 
words  once,  and  I've  got  'em  marked  in  my  Bible. 
It's  in  John." 


212  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  How  could  he  be  the  father  of  lies  ?  and  what 
do  you  mean,  Stephen  ?  I  don't  believe  it.  How 
do  you  know  ?  " 

"Only  because  Jesus  said  so,"  said  Stephen;  "and 
he  knows." 

"  Is  that  why  you  thought  he  made  me  do  that, 
that  morning  ?  " 

Stephen  nodded. 

"  But  he  couldn't.     I  never  saw  him." 

"  0  no,"  said  Stephen,  "  you  didn't  see  him.  I 
don't  know  how  he  does  it,  Posie,  but  he  comes  and 
puts  bad  things  in  people's  heads  to  get  them  to  do 
wrong;  and  when  they  do  it,  then  he  is  glad." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  begin?"  said  Posie, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  subject. 

"  I  guess  we'll  go  up  to  the  top  of  the  brook,  up 
near  the  waterfall — " 

"  Niagara,"  said  Posie. 

"Yes,  Niagara;  and  then  we'll  come  down,  and 
go  as  far  as  we  can." 

Posie  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  two  children 
hurried,  on  gay  feet,  to  reach  the  head  of  the 
meadow;  choosing  then  the  spot  where  the  waters 
having  recovered  from  their  dash  and  plunge  set 
out  upon  a  steady  course  again.  There  Stephen 
carefully  launched  one  of  his  vessels. 

"  It  must  have  a  name,"  said  he ;  "  we  must  know 
them  apart.  This  one  is  yours;  now  you  name  it." 

As  he  spoke  he  advanced  carefully  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  stream,  where  the  tufts  of  rank  grass 
made  a  very  slippery  and  uncertain  footing;  and 


VOGUE  LA  GALERE.  213 

stretching  out  his  arm  as  far  as  was  possible,  he  set 
the  little  mimic  skiff  in  the  free  current.  If  the 
current  could  be  said  to  be  anywhere  free.  It  was 
very  rapid;  it  was  somewhat  encumbered  by  the 
rough  stones  of  its  bed;  and  over  and  around  them 
it  hurried  away  with  tumbling  haste  and  energy. 
The  confusion  of  which  was  heightened  by  the 
fact  that  its  channel  made  numerous  sudden  and 
sharp  turns  and  windings;  so  that  the  owner  of 
the  meadow  declared  the  brook  lost  him  half  an 
acre  of  hay.  It  was  a  model  brook !  hurrying,  toss 
ing,  whirling,  rushing,  and  thereby  making  the  most 
delicious  laugh  and  gurgle  of  waters  that  the  ear 
of  man  or  child  could  delight  in. 

"  What's  the  name,  Posie  ?  "  cried  Stephen,  while 
he  held  the  little,  certainly  flat-bottomed  boat,  sus 
pended  above  the  current.  "  Say  quick,  before  I 
let  go ! " 

"01  don't  know.     You  name  it !  "  cried  Posie. 

"Then  here  goes  the  'President'" — said  Stephen, 
carefully  setting  the  slip  of  wood  upon  the  waves. 
Alas  for  the  State,  if  the  fate  of  its  head  were  typi 
cal.  The  '  President '  made  one  violent  dash  for 
ward,  then  struck  her  bows  against  an  obstacle  in 
the  shape  of  a  big  stone,  and  stuck  fast;  the  force 
of  the  stream  lifting  her  stern  and  driving  her 
bows  under  water.  Hopeless  shipwreck !  every 
sea,  speaking  figuratively,  went  over  her.  And  she 
was  now  quite  beyond  Stephen's  reach. 

"  What  will  you  do  now,  Stephen  ? "  asked  his 
little  playmate. 


214  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  I'll  get  her  off  again.  She's  quite  sound,"  said 
the  shipmaster.  "  I'll  set  her  afloat.  But  first 
we'll  try  the  other.  Now  what's  her  name,  Posie? 
Here  she  goes !  The — the  what?  " 

"Call  her  the  'Maria.'     That's  mother's  name." 

The  "Maria"  had  better  fate,  at  least  for  a  time. 
Better  launched  perhaps,  she  escaped  the  big  stone 
and  one  or  two  other  dangers,  and  went  sweeping 
down  the  meadow  in  quite  splendid  style.  It  is 
true  her  manner  of  sailing  was  somewhat  unsteady; 
a  trifle  toppling;  ballast  was  probably  wanting;  nev 
ertheless  she  sailed,  that  was  the  great  point,  and 
the  children  followed  with  shouts  of  joy.  Truly  they 
had  to  run  for  it  to  keep  up  with  her,  for  the  water 
swept  on  almost  with  violence.  Once  the  "  Maria  " 
lodged  for  a  minute  behind  a  stick,  and  there  was 
a  moment  of  intense  anxiety;  but  then  the  force 
of  the  current  bore  her  away,  and  for  another  space 
she  floated  triumphantly.  At  last  she  too  brought 
up  hopelessly  against  a  hummock  of  grass  at  a  bend 
of  the  shore.  She  was  freed  -with  some  difficulty, 
only  to  make  another  mad  dash  into  another  hum 
mock  of  grass  at  the  opposite  bend.  Now  what 
was  to  be  done  ? 

The  brook  was  far  too  wide  to  be  leapt  over. 
Stephen's  arms  could  not  reach  across.  And  there 
was  the  "Maria"  stranded;  not  in  harbour,  and 
apparently  never  to  reach  harbour,  wherever  that 
might  be  supposed  to  be.  An  involuntary  stop 
page  could  not  answer  to  the  idea. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Stephen,  after  a  mo- 


VOGUE  LA  GALERE.  215 

ment's  dismayed  considering  of  the  situation,  "  we'll 
go  up  and  set  the  '  President '  off  again." 

"  How  can  you  ?  "  said  Posie,  running  along  side 
of  him  however  eagerly  as  she  spoke;  "you  can't 
get  at  her,  Stephen." 

"  I  must  get  at  her." 

"  But  you  can't  reach  it,  you  know." 

"I  will  reach  it!" 

To  this  there  was  no  more  to  be  said ;  only  there 
grew  up  a  certain  admiration  of  Stephen's  resources 
and  spirit.  Stephen  explained.  He  would  get  a 
long  stick,  with  which  the  shipwrecked  "  President" 
might  be  dislodged  from  the  rock  and  set  afloat 
again.  This  offered  a  delightful  possibility. 

It  was  done  too.  But  with  how  much  expendi 
ture  of  strength  and  skill,  how  much  outlay  of 
patience,  how  much  force  of  determination,  and 
how  much  ruthless  cost  of  time,  the  muse  of  His 
tory  judges  not  best  at  this  period  to  record  in 
detail.  The  stick  was  procured,  with  infinite  pains, 
from  out  of  the  copse;  the  "President"  was  set  on 
her  way.  And  she  ended  in  an  ignoble  stranding 
in  a  hummock  of  grass,  just  like  the  "  Maria,"  and 
on  the  same  side. 

Then  the  counselling.  Then  the  resolve  on  Ste 
phen's  part  that  the  brook  must  be  crossed,  by  him 
at  least.  Then  the  adventure,  which  he  found  de 
lightful  and  Posie  enviable ;  though  he  assured  her 
that  the  water  almost  threw  him  down.  Finding 
themselves  on  opposite  sides  was  a  new  sensation, 
which  had  its  advantages  to  be  sure,  for  Posio 


216  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

could  guide  the  navigation  on  the  one  bank  while 
Stephen  took  care  of  it  on  the  other.  Or  rather, 
they  acted  as  a  coast-guard  and  life-boat  service ; 
whereby  it  was  frequently  necessary  to  come  to 
the  very  edge  and  assume  dangerous  positions, 
treading  on  slippery  tufts  of  rank  grass,  and  im 
pending  their  small  persons  over  the  wave  at  the 
imminent  risk  of  losing  balance  and  toppling  over 
into  it.  What  wonder,  if  this  at  last  happened, 
while  the  ''President "  and  the  "  Maria "  were  still 
at  some  distance  from  their  goal,  the  fence  under 
which  the  brook  left  the  meadow.  What  wonder 
if  this  did  not  happen  until  the  sun  was  high  in 
the  sky  and  the  hour  of  dinner  long  passed.  What 
recked  they  of  time?  It  happened  to  Stephen 
first,  who  got  a  good  sousing;  shook  himself  like  a 
water  dog,  and  went  on  with  the  play,  nothing  the 
worse.  But  then  it  came  Posie's  turn ;  she  toppled 
over  into  the  water,  lay  for  a  moment  half  sub 
merged,  and  then  with  Stephen's  help  struggled  to 
her  feet;  for  Stephen  had  instantly  dashed  in  again 
and  rushed  across  to  help  her.  Laughing  and  wet 
they  stood  on  the  bank  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"  That  water  is  the  strongest  water  I  ever  saw ! " 
said  Posie.  "  It  seemed  as  if  it  would  not  let  me  get 
up." 

"  0  you  are  so  wet !  "  cried  Stephen. 

"  Aint  I ! "  said  the  little  one,  looking  down  at 
herself. 

"  We  must  run  home.  0  Posie,  I  am  afraid  your 
mother  won't  like  it." 


VOGUE  LA  GALERE.  217 

"  Like  it !  "  said  Posie.  "  I  guess  she  won't.  But 
la,  Stephen,  she  never  likes  anything,"  the  little 
girl  added  confidentially. 

They  were  running  up  the  road  as  hard  as  their 
feet  could  carry  them. 

"  It's  the  greatest  fun  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  life," 
Posie  went  on.  "Stephen,  we'll  go  sailing  boats 
every  day  we  can,  won't  we  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  won't  let  us,  I'm 
afraid." 

"Mr.  Hardenbrook  will,"  said  Posie;  "and  I 
shan't  tell  ma." 

'  But  she  will  see  you,  Posie ;  you'll  have  to  tell 
her." 

"  I  won't  let  her  see  me.     I'll  go  to  Jonto." 

"  0  but  that  wouldn't  be  right." 

"  Yes  it  would.  She'd  only  fuss.  It's  no  use  to 
tell  ma  anything.  I  never  do." 

"  I  always  told  my  mother,  everything,"  said 
Stephen ;  "  and  then  she  would  help  me." 

"  Ma's  no  good  to  help,"  said  Posie.  "  She  only 
just  makes  a  great  fuss;  and  that  don't  help  any 
body.  Jonto  '11  do." 

Kunning  along  the  road  in  wet  garments  was 
not  exactly  the  best  time  for  a  lesson  in  ethics;  and 
Stephen  held  his  peace;  the  more  especially  as 
Jonto  presently  found  the  truants.  She  was  com 
ing  to  look  for  them. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

BAD   COMPANY. 

IT  was  two  days  before  Stephen  was  allowed  to 
go  to  the  factory  again,  except  for  his  morning 
and  evening  work  which  he  persisted  in  doing. 
The  interval  was  of  great  use  to  him.  Gordon  had 
nad  time  to  reflect  that  his  proceeding  against  the 
Doy,  as  threatened,  might  not  be  popular  even 
among  his  immediate  companions;  and  very  cer 
tainly  would  gain  him  no  favour  at  "  the  house." 
The  passage  of  two  days  allowed  him  gracefully 
to  let  the  matter  drop,  as  if  passed  out  of  mind; 
and  it  was  a  very  agreeable  disappointment  to 
Stephen  and  one  for  which  he  gave  earnest  thanks 
in  his  little  room  at  night,  that  Mr.  Gordon  made 
no  more  mention  of  the  subject  of  their  late  quarrel. 
Stephen  was  not  therefore,  however,  out  of  all 
danger. 

He  attended  to  his  duties  with  such  a  mingling 
of  cleverness  and  determination  that  he  won  the 
respect  of  his  neighbours;  and  his  manner  was  the 
fruit  of  so  much  humility  and  good  will  that  he 
gradually  gained  the  favour  of  almost  all  of  them. 
Mr.  Gordon,  he  knew,  was  an  exception,  and  Wil- 
(218) 


BAD  COMPANY.  219 

kins  could  never  be  civil  when  lie  came  in  contact 
with  his  little  workfellow.  However,  Stephen  was 
making  his  way,  and  he  knew  it,  and  was  very  glad 
of  it.  Then  one  day,  with  a  sudden  revolution  of 
manner,  Wilkins  invited  him  to  go  to  church  at 
Deepford.  They  would  go  in  a  wagon,  he  said, 
and  the  ride  would  be  "  splendid."  Stephen  would 
have  liked  the  drive  well  enough,  but  he  was  shy 
of  Wilkins'  company,  and  declined  the  invitation. 
It  was  pressed,  in  vain.  The  next  week  another 
of  the  hands,  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Calcott, 
renewed  the  invitation  in  very  similar  terms.  Ste 
phen  did  not  trust  Calcott  and  refused  it.  He 
thought  the  matter  was  ended.  But  a  few  weeks 
later,  one  Sunday  morning,  Stephen  going  along 
by  the  brook  side,  near  the  mill,  where  the  stream 
ran  under  the  shadow  of  trees  and  was  very  pretty, 
was  suddenly  surprised  by  both  the  young  men  at 
once.  One  came  up  on  one  side,  and  the  other  on 
the  other  side;  half  laughing,  half  jeering,  they 
seized  Stephen's  arms  and  drew  him  along  with 
them  towards  the  road. 

"  Let  me  go,  Calcott !  what  do  you  want  with 
me?"  he  said,  struggling  to  free  himself. 

"  Hold  on ! — don't  be  so  like  a  fish  in  a  basket," 
said  the  other.  "  I  want  to  shew  you  something. 
Come  along — you're  going  with  me.  When  I  take 
the  trouble  to  invite  a  little  chap  like  you,  I  aint  a 
going  to  be  said  no  to.  Learn  to  have  more  respect 
for  your  betters,  young  man." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  !  "  said  Stephen  struggling. 


220  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

u  Good  for  you,  sir ;  you're  getting  your  own  way 
too  much  entirely.  You  want  a  little  discipline. 
Hold  hard,  Wilkins;  now  hoist  him  in ! — " 

And  with  small  ceremony  Stephen  was  lifted  into 
a  buggy  that  was  waiting  in  the  road;  and  Wilkins 
and  Calcott  tumbling  in  hastily  after  him,  the  lat 
ter  took  the  reins  and  drove  off  furiously. 

It  was  no  use  to  resist  any  longer,  and  Stephen 
gave  over  resistance.  He  felt  a  little  anxious,  but 
not  much.  What  could  they  indeed  do  to  him  ?  A 
few  hours'  forced  detention,  and  probably  some  dis 
agreeable  spending  of  the  time,  were  the  worst  he 
had  to  expect.  But  it  was  more  disagreeable  than 
Stephen  had  ever  thought  it  could  be. 

They  drove  to  Deepford.  There  they  dismounted 
at  a  third  class  little  inn.  The  horse  was  put  up,  and 
the  three  companions  entered  a  room  where  a  num 
ber  of  roistering  young  fellows  already  were  gath 
ered.  Calcott  and  Wilkins  were  noisily  greeted; 
and  as  nobody  took  any  notice  of  Stephen,  he  sat 
down  in  a  corner,  used  his  eyes  upon  what  was  be 
fore  them,  and  meditated  a  possible  escape.  That 
however  seemed  very  doubtfully  possible.  The  peo 
ple  in  the  room  were  not  tipsy,  and  they  were  in  a 
very  lively  state  of  mind.  Of  body  too ;  for  in  their 
superabundant  spirits  nothing  would  serve  them 
but  pulling  each  other  about  and  wrestling  and  box 
ing.  Any  movement  of  Stephen's  would  have  been 
instantly  observed,  and  any  attempt  to  get  away 
as  surely  thwarted.  He  kept  still,  and  looked,  and 
listened.  And  the  boy's  heart  sank  within  him. 


BAD  COMPANY.  221 

Not  with  fear;  he  knew  no  precise  cause  why  he 
should  fear;  but  with  dislike  and  displeasure  that 
amounted  to  loathing.  They  were  rude  and  coarse 
in  manner  and  speech,  these  fellows;  oaths  came 
out  with  facile  frequency;  and  by  the  whole  run  ol 
the  talk  it  was  evident  enough  that  tempers  were 
irritable  and  not  to  be  depended  on.  And  it  was 
Sunday.  Stephen  saw  that  he  was  in  a  perfectly 
lawless  assembly.  How  came  he  to  be  there  ?  He 
feared  mischief,  without  knowing  in  what  shape  it 
could  come. 

After,  a  while  the  company  settled  to  business. 
They  drew  round  a  table,  ordered  supplies  of  li 
quor,  and  produced  several  packs  of  cards.  The 
noisy  clamour  of  tongues  somewhat  subsided;  they 
had  something  now  on  hand  that  was  earnest  work. 
And  they  for  a  while  went  at  it  earnestly.  Drink 
ing  to  sweeten  their  play,  and  swearing  occasionally 
to  emphasize  it,  they  bent  their  attention  steadily 
to  the  game ;  and  for  a  half  hour  or  so  were  toler 
ably  quiet.  Stephen  saw  that  they  were  playing 
for  money;  watching  them,  as  he  could 'not  help 
doing,  he  saw  that  some  were  winning  and  others 
losing;  that  tempers  were  rising  or  falling  in  har 
moriy  with  the  "luck";  and  even  he  could  feel  that 
the  coarse  revelry  of  the  beginning  was  taking  a 
deeper  and  fiercer  tone.  Perhaps  he  might  have 
slipped  out  now  unobserved ;  but  he  thought  not,  and 
was  afraid  to  draw  attention  to  himself  by  the  least 
movement.  Among  those  who  had  been  success 
ful  at  the  play,  he  saw,  was  Calcott.  He  began 


222  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

to  grow  careless  and  supercilious;  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  clapped  his  neighbour  on  the  back,  drank 
often  and  deep;  and  finally,  to  Stephen's  great  ter 
ror,  suddenly  looked  round  and  accosted  him. 

"  By  the  way !  here's  a  new  hand  that  hasn't 
learnt  the  game  yet.  Come  here,  Steve;  here's  a 
place  for  you.  Come  here,  and  see  what  jolly  life 
is.  Mr.  Kay,  gentlemen — a  very  new  hand;  his 
mother's  milk  is  hardly  out  of  him,  but  I  want  to 
stand  his  friend." 

Stephen  had  not  dared  to  hold  back,  when  called 
to  the  table;  and  now  he  stood  there  and  confronted 
all  the  circle.  They  eyed  him  with  scornful,  rather 
impatient  eyes ;  what  was  he,  to  interrupt  their  game. 

"  Look  here,  Calcott, — what  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried 
one  of  the  young  men.  "We  are  after  business, 
I  take  it;  and  don't  want  a  sucking  pig  turning 
over  the  cards.  How  came  that  young  shaver 
here?" 

"  I  brought  him.  I  tell  you,  I  want  to  introduce 
him  to  life.  He  aint  half  a  bad  fellow,  but  he's 
young ;  he  is  that.  Not  too  young  to  begin.  Here, 
Stephen,  sit  down.  Now  you  shall  play  the  next 
game.  Here,  hand  along  the  cards,  Dixon." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  play,  sir,"  said  Stephen, 
trembling  inwardly. 

"  I'll  learn  you.  Here,  hold  fast  all  I  give  you." 
— Calcott  began  dealing. 

"  I  cannot  play,  sir,"  Stephen  repeated,  leaving 
the  cards  untouched. 

"I  tell  you,  I'll  teach  you.     Here's  some  grog 


BAD  COMPANY.  223 

for  you — that'll  make  you  take  heart  of  grace. 
Drink  boy,  and  don't  let  the  fellows  call  you  a 
sucking-  pig  again.  You  can  taste  something  be 
sides  milk  now,  and  be  a  man.  There's  spunk 
enough  in  you,  I  know.  Drink !  " 

"No,  thank  you,  sir;  I  don't  want  it." 

"  Then  let  it  alone,  and  go  on  with  the  game." 
And  Calcott  stopped  here  to  give  a  short  explana 
tion  of  the  manner  in  which  it  should  be  played. 
Stephen  listened,  looking  down  at  the  cards;  what 
should  he  do?  But  Sunday?  and  he  a  servant  of 
God  ?  and  with  the  remembrance  of  his  mother's 
words  fresh  in  his  heart?  and  with  the  ocular  proof 
all  around  him  that  the  players  were  the  servants 
of  the  Evil  one  ?  Stephen  set  his  teeth.  He  waited 
till  Calcott's  instructions  were  given ;  then  he  looked 
up  at  him  steadfastly. 

"  I  will  not  play  cards  to-day,  Mr.  Calcott." 

"Yes,  you  will.  What  makes  you  think  you 
won't?'' 

"  It  is  Sunday." 

"  Well,  of  course  it  is.  Sunday's  the  only  day  a 
fellow  has  to  rest  and  enjoy  himself.  If  it  wasn't 
Sunday,  you  and  I'd  be  somewheres  else.  Take 
the  good  of  it  while  you  can." 

"  But  not  in  cards,  thank  you." 

"  Yes,  you  will,"  said  Calcott  coolly.  "  Where's 
your  drink  ?  Here ! — take  a  swallow  or  two  of 
this;  that'll  put  heart  into  you." 

"  What's  the  little  sneak's  objection  to  cards  ?  " 
asked  carelessly  one  of  the  others. 


224  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"He's  been  told,  and  he  believes  it,  that  the 
picture  cards  are  portraits  of  the  devil  and  his  fam 
ily;  and  accurate  likenesses.  Now  I've  always 
heard  of  giving  the  devil  his  due ;  and  that  aint  it." 

There  was  a  senseless  roar  at  the  table  in  answer 
to  this  miserable  witticism ;  under  cover  of  which 
Calcott  repeated,  "  Drink,  you  scamp  !  " 

"  I  would  rather  not,  thank  you." 

Calcott  swore  an  oath  that  fairly  froze  Stephen's 
blood.  "You'll  do  what  I  tell  you!"  said  he;  u  or  I 
can  tell  you,  you  shall  have  something  to  remem 
ber  the  day  by.  Do  you  set  up  to  oppose  me,  you 
little  rascal?  You  can't  do  it  here.  Mind  me, 
every  word  I  say,  or  if  you  never  had  a  lickin'  be 
fore  you  shall  know  what  it  means  now." 

"  I  promised  mother  I  would  never  drink,"  said 
Stephen,  pale  but  steady. 

"  I  promise  you,  you  shall !     Drink ! — " 

The  glass  was  held  to  his  lips.  Its  fiery  fumes 
were  violently  disagreeable  to  Stephen;  but  he 
would  not  have  hesitated  for  that.  He  would  have 
swallowed  anything,  for  he  was  in  bodily  fear  of  ill 
treatment;  only  it  was  contrary  to  the  boy's  whole 
nature  to  swallow  his  words.  To  him  it  seemed 
an  impossibility.  He  set  his  teeth  and  refused  to 
let  any  drops  of  the  liquor  pass  them.  Calcott  grew 
enraged,  while  from  the  rest  of  the  company  there 
rose  various  cries  which  all  helped  to  inflame  his 
passion.  Some  laughed  at  the  struggle  in  which 
the  stronger  was  so  nearly  worsted;  some  called  to 
him  to  let  the  boy  alone;  others  stimulated  him 


BAD  COMPANY.  225 

by  mockery  or  encouragement  to  carry  through 
his  purpose  and  break  down  Stephen's  obstinacy. 
There  were  some  of  those  present  to  whom  any 
persistence  in  truth  or  right  doing  is  exceedingly 
hateful,  because  it  reproaches  themselves;  and  to 
get  rid  of  that  reproach  by  destroying  the  example 
that  brings  it,  is,  in  part  at  least,  the  object  of  most 
persecution,  if  not  of  all.  Calcott  grew  furious  un 
der  all  these  different  stimulations  of  his  evil  nature. 
He  again,  with  oaths,  commanded  Stephen  to  drink ; 
which  the  little  boy  bravely  refused  to  do. 

"Curse  you,  then  sit  down  and  play,"  cried  his 
tormentor.  "Take  your  cards  and  begin.  Mind, 
or  I'll  half  kill  you.  Take  up  your  cards." 

"  It  is  Sunday,"  said  Stephen,  though  he  trem 
bled.  "  I  will  not,  Calcott." 

Amid  jeers  and  taunts,  Calcott's  rage  got  beyond 
bounds.  Some  there  would  perhaps  have  hindered 
him,  but  others  enjoyed  the  sport;  and  Stephen  had 
to  endure  pretty  rough  handling.  He  endured  it 
with  persistent  bravery;  would  not  cry  and  would 
not  let  tears  come;  and  neither  would  he  touch  the 
cards.  Calcott  gave  him  a  far  worse  beating  than 
Stephen  had  ever  had  in  his  life ;  but  though  sore 
and  in  fear  of  more  trouble,  Stephen  could  not  be 
made  to  touch  the  game. 

"  What  can't  be  done  one  way  can  be  done  an 
other,"  cried  Calcott.  "  We'll  make  him  so  drunk 
he  can't  see;  and  then  I'll  bet  he'll  do  what  we 
like.  Wilkins — Brand — come  here  and  help. — " 

They  held  the  boy,  whose  strength  was  unable 


226  STEPHEN,  M.D, 

to  cope  with  them;  and  Calcott  taking  a  spoon 
forced  some  of  the  hot  brandy  and  water  between 
Stephen's  lips.  Stephen  struggled,  but  the  brandy 
and  water  got  into  his  mouth,  he  had  to  swallow 
it  or  be  strangled;  and  then  when  he  gasped  for 
air  after  the  fiery  draught  Calcott  took  his  advan 
tage  and  poured  down  half  the  tumblerful.  The 
young  men  laughed  and  shouted  and  made  very 
merry  over  their  victim,  and  Calcott  sat  down, 
satisfied,  to  the  interrupted  game.  "Let  him 
alone;  he'll  play  fast  enough  directly,"  he  said, 
leaving  Stephen  to  get  his  breath  and  come  to 
the  bewildering  effects  of  the  dram  he  had  taken. 

But  he  had  miscalculated  the  effects.  The  brandy 
and  water  had  been  mixed  "stiff";  Stephen  had 
never  tasted  anything  of  the  sort  in  his  life  before ; 
the  consequence  was,  not  a  little  bewildering  and 
elation  which  might  have  put  him  in  Calcott's 
power,  but  an  utter  stupefaction  which  completely 
withdrew  him  from  it.  Stephen  was  dead  drunk, 
and  went  into  a  deep  and  stupid  sleep  with  which 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 

"  Now  you've  got  it,  Calcott !  "  they  said. 

"  Who'd  ha'  thought  any  one  could  ha'  been  so 
green  as  that !  "  said  Calcott,  looking  at  the  helpless 
and  unconscious  child.  "  I  wish  I'd  burned  my 
fingers  before  I'd  meddled  with  him  !  Ugh  !  " 

"Your  own  fault.  The  child  would  ha'  been 
harmless  enough  if  you  had  let  him  alone." 

Calcott  retorted  sharply  and  nearly  got  into  a 
serious  quarrel;  and  the  game  was  spoiled  for  that 


BAD  COMPANY.  227 

day.  Somehow  the  taste  was  taken  out  of  it,  The 
company  scattered  after  a  while ;  and  Calcott  and 
Wilkins  had  to  make  up  their  minds  what  was  next 
to  do.  Stephen  was  helpless  and  stupid  in  sleep. 

"  Well  you  have  made  a  mess  of  it,  Calcott ! " 
ejaculated  his  companion  in  mischief. 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  said  the  other  roughly; 
"  the  thing  is  now  to  get  rid  of  him." 

"  Hoist  him  into  the  bottom  of  the  buggy,"  sug 
gested  Wilkins,  "and  take  him  home,  like  a  bag 
of  sand.  When  he  wakes  up,  he  won't  know  any 
thing." 

"Think  so?" 

"  Not  a  blessed  thing  of  it  all." 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  him  ?  where  shall  we 
drop  him,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Just  leave  him  where  we  picked  him  up ;  leave 
him  to  give  his  own  account  of  himself." 

"The  little  beggar  might  make  an  ugly  story 
of  it,— hey?" 

"  He  dursn't ! " 

"  I  tell  you,  he's  game,  he  is.  I  never  see  jest 
sich  a  ten  year  old,  in  all  my  experience.  He's  as 
tough  as — well,  my  conscience." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Wilkins;  "he  won't  blow  on 
us.  'Taint  his  way.  I  don't  quite  make  him  out; 
but  he  didn't  tell  on  Gordon." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  he  had,  we'd  ha'  heard  of  it,  I'm  think 
ing.  Besides,  we're  two  to  one.  What  you  say 
I'll  stand  to.  It's  no  use  for  him  to  try  that  little 


228  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

game;  and  he's  sharp  enough  to  know  it.  He  aint 
no  ways  dull." 

"  I  wisht  I'd  let  him  alone  and  not  meddled  with 
nim,"  said  the  other  roughly  and  with  an  oath. 
"Well,  come  along;  let's  hoist  him  up  into  the 
buggy.  It  was  you  got  me  into  this  scrape,  Wil- 
kins;  and  if  I  get  into  trouble  about  it,  I'll  hold  a 
reckoning  with  you,  you  see !  " 

"  There  won't  be  no  trouble,"  said  Wilkins.  But 
he  too  privately  cursed  the  folly  that  had  led  him 
into  this  business.  They  lifted  unconscious  little 
Stephen  into  the  buggy,  where  he  lay  at  full  length 
on  the  straw  with  which  the  bottom  was  carpeted, 
and  drove  home  as  fast  as  they  could.  Arrived 
near  the  factory  they  stopped,  lifted  Stephen  out, 
carried  him  into  the  fringe  of  woodland  that  bor 
dered  the  brook,  and  there  laid  him  down;  on  a 
soft  bank  of  moss  under  a  tree. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

SYMPATHY. 

IT  was  falling  dusk,  and  the  kitchen  fire  was 
burning  bright  for  the  preparation  of  the  Sun 
day  supper,  when  Posie  came  and  put  her  head  in 
at  the  door. 

"  Jonto — where's  Stephen  ?  " 

"Dat's  jes'  what  I  don'  know,  Posie." 

"  But  where  is  he  ?     Aint  he  here?  " 

"  I  haint  seen  him  this  hull  blessed  day.  I  fought 
he  wor  wi'  you.  Aint  you  had  him  somewheres  ?  " 

"  No  !     I  haven't  seen  him  at  all." 

"  Ah  !  Well,  den,  'pears  he  mus'  gib  'count  o'  his- 
self,  when  he  comes.  Aint  dat  him  now,  crossin 
ober  de  yard?  Boys  gin'lly  knows  when  supper 
time  aint  fur  off.  Hi  Stephen  !  is  dat  you  ?  " 

But  it  did  not  look  like  Stephen,  when  the  boy 
came  in;  at  least  not  like  the  Stephen  who  had 
gone  out  in  the  morning;  and  Jonto's  instant 
question  was, 

"  What's  come  to  de  cmT  ?  What  ails  you, 
honey?  Sit  down  dar,  and  tell.  Is  you  sick?" 

"  My  head," — said  the  little  boy. 

"  What's  de  matter  wid  your  head  ?  " 


230  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  It  aches  so,  Jonto  !  " 

"  Whar's  you  been  and  gone,  since  de  mornin'  ? 
Haint  nobody  seen  no  sign  o'  you.  Whar  ha'  you 
been,  boy?  What's  you  done  gone  and  do  to 
yourself,  hey  ?  Sit  down  dar,  den  !  " 

And  Stephen  sat  down,  as  if  stupefied.  He  had 
been  much  puzzled  as  to  what  he  should  say  for 
himself,  in  giving  an  account  of  the  day,  and 
the  puzzle  was  not  yet  solved.  On  awaking  un 
der  the  trees  some  little  time  ago,  feeling  his  head 
aching  and  his  body  sore,  he  had  not  immediately 
been  able  to  give  an  account  of  it  to  himself.  He 
felt  very  confused.  But  presently  the  confusion 
cleared  up,  and  he  remembered  where  he  had  been, 
remembered  the  threats,  and  the  blows,  and  the 
tumbler  of  steaming  punch  which  he  had  been 
obliged  to  swallow.  He  was  aching  now  all  over, 
from  head  to  foot,  aching  and  lame;  yet  the  diffi 
culty  of  explaining  matters  gave  him  by  far  the 
most  trouble.  To  tell  tales,  as  Wilkins  had  truly 
said,  was  not  Stephen's  "way;"  it  was  not  in  accord 
ance  with  his  temper,  which  was  singularly  manly 
and  sweet  at  once;  indeed  the  two  things  do  go 
together.  And  besides,  Stephen  was  an  honest 
little  Christian,  and  the  spirit  of  forgiveness  had 
not  to  be  simulated  in  him;  it  was  there  in  living 
truth.  At  the  same  time,  he  knew  he  had  been 
missed  at  home;  he  knew  he  must  present  himself 
there  now  sick  and  miserable ;  what  should  he  say 
about  it  ?  He  did  not  want  to  expose  his  torment 
ors;  and  a  fine  feeling  told  him  it  would  not  be 


SYMPATHY. 


231 


Christ-like  to  do  it ;  therefore  not  right  for  him  to 
do,  if  he  could  manage  to  avoid  speaking.  He  sat 
down  and  leaned  his  sick  head  in  his  hands.  The 
next  thing  he  knew,  Posie's  fingers  were  tenderly 
stroking  the  hair  from  his  temples. 

"Poor  Stephen! "  she  said.  "0  Jonto,  can't  you 
give  him  something  to  make  him  well  ?  " 

"  Mebbe, — ef  I  knowed  what  had  made  him  sick," 
said  Jonto.  "Whar  did  ye  get  your  dinner,  boy?" 

•*  I— I  don't  think  I  had  any." 

"Haint  had  none!"  cried  Jonto.  "No  wonder 
den  you's  sick.  0'  course  you  is !  What  ha'  you 
been  a  doin',  Stephen  ?  " 

"  Where  were  you,  Stephen  ?  "  Posie  added. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  couldn't  get  anything  to 
eat,"  said  Stephen. 

"  Whar  was  you,  chil'  ?  " 

"Jonto,  please  don't  ask  me.  I  can't  tell  you 
now." 

Jonto  looked  at  him,  with  anxious  and  unsatis 
fied  eyes,  and  Posie  too  looked  troubled  as  well  a? 
curious.  She  was  much  too  curious  to  go  away 
she  waited  and  looked  on,  while  Jonto  got  oui 
some  cold  meat  and  gave  Stephen  bread  and  milk. 
But  Stephen  could  not  eat. 

"Whar  has  you  been,  all  dis  Sabba'  day?"  she 
asked  severely. 

"  I  don't  want  to  tell — "  said  Stephen. 

"Has  you  been  in  mischief?" 

"Yes,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  It  was  not  my 
fault.  0  don't  tell  your  father,  Posie !  please ! " 


232  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Folks  don't  git  into  mischief  widout  it's  some 
body's  fau't,"  said  Jonto. 

"  Has  somebody  played  you  a  trick,  Stephen  ?  " 
the  little  girl  asked.  "0  Stephen!  was  it  that 
Wilkins  ?  I  do  believe  it  was  !  I'll  tell  pa."— 

But  Stephen  caught  hold  of  her  hand  and  held 
it  fast. 

"  Don't,  Posie  !     You  mustn't." 

"  Why  mustn't  I  ?  " 

"Because  I  don't  want  you  to  do  it.  Posie,  I 
don't  want  you  to  do  it.  Don't  say  anything! 
Posie,  if  you  love  me." 

"  Wall,  I  do  'clar !  "  said  Jonto.  "  Does  you  lub 
him  a'ready,  Posie,  so  much  as  dat?" 

"  Stephen,  tell  me"  Posie  begged.  "Tell  me^ 
and  I  won't  say  anything.  I  promise.  Was  it  Wil 
kins  ?  Say,  Stephen  ?  was  it  ? " 

Stephen  hesitated,  and  then  gave  a  little,  very 
slight,  nod  of  acquiescence.  Posie  uttered  there 
upon  a  shout  of  mingled  triumph  and  indignation; 
while  Jonto  set  down  her  teapot,  forgetting  her 
ordinary  business  in  this  most  extraordinary  con 
juncture  of  affairs. 

"  What  did  he  do,  Stephen  ?  "  Posie's  eagerness 
thus  far  gratified,  was  now  insatiable.  She  poured 
a  very  rain  of  questions  upon  Stephen,  who  never 
theless  observed  a  most  provoking  silence.  It  was 
hard  for  him ;  but  he  had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind 
that  it  was  best  to  tell  anybody  of  what  had  hap 
pened  ;  and  young  as  he  was,  he  was  standing  by 
his  convictions.  Suddenly  Posie  descried  a  red 


SYMPATHY.  233 

weal  on  Stephen's  hand.  She  seized  the  hand  be 
fore  he  knew  what  she  was  about. 

"  What  is  this  ?  you've  been  hurt.  Stephen, 
what  is  this?  Look  here,  Jonto — look  here!  just 
see  this  long  red  mark !  How  did  you  do  this, 
Stephen  ?  " 

"  Whar's  de  oder  end  of  it  ?  "  said  Jonto,  also 
pouncing  upon  the  hand.  "  You  let  a  be  Posie, 
till  I  see.  It  runs  up  here  under  his  sleeve,  it 
do;  dis  mus'  be  examine';  here,  you  Stephen,  let's 
off  wid  de  coat;  dar's  no  telling  t'rough  all  dis 
yer." 

And  though  Stephen  feebly  resisted,  Jonto  had 
her  way;  Stephen  was  indeed  in  no  condition  to 
resist  vigorously  anything;,  his  head  was  dazed 
and  aching,  and  he  felt  miserably  lame  and  sore 
and  stiff  all  over.  Jonto  dragged  off  his  coat  and 
then  stripped  up  the  shirt  sleeve;  and  so  they  saw 
that  the  arm  was  in  places  black  and  blue. 

"Now  you  Stephen,  what's  dat  ar?"  Jonto 
demanded. 

"  0  Stephen,  what  is  it?  how  could  you  do  it?  " 
Posie  cried  in  horror.  Poor  Stephen  said  he  did 
not  do  it. 

"How  did  you  come  by  it,  then?  what  has 
happened  ?  " 

"  It's  been  the  worst  Sunday  I  ever  lived  through ! " 
said  the  little  boy,  bursting  into  tears.  But  he  tried 
to  stop  them,  for  it  did  not  suit  his  notions  of  self- 
respect  to  cry  "before  folks,"  as  he  would  have  said ; 
though  he  felt  so  very  forlorn. 


234  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"And  it  was  that  Wilkins'  fault!"  said  Posie. 
"I'll  go  straight  and  tell  pa." 

Stephen  held  her  fast.  "Wilkins  didn't  do  it. 
Posie,  you  mustn't  tell.  I  don't  want  you  to  tell. 
It  wasn't  Wilkins." 

" But  you  said  he  played  you  a  trick? " 

"My  arm  aint  a  trick.  Never  mind,  Posie;  I'll 
tell  you  about  it  some  time,  if  you'll  keep  still.  My 
head  aches  so,  I  can't  now.  0  my  head  aches !  " 

Curiosity  was  fain  to  stand  by,  and  Jonto  her 
self  went  up  with  the  little  boy  to  put  him  to  bed. 
Perhaps  she  had  some  design  in  so  doing;  if  she 
had,  it  was  successful ;  and  she  shook  her  head  sig 
nificantly  many  times  during  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing,  as  she  went  about  her  work. 

Next  morning  it  was  later  than  usual  when  Ste 
phen  came  down,  and  Jonto  found  him  just  kin 
dling  her  fire. 

"How's  you's  feelin's  dis  mornin'?"  she  asked 
him  with  an  inquisitorial  look. 

"My  head  aches  some — "  Stephen  allowed. 

"  An'  you  feels  kind  o'  lame  and  sore,  don't  ye, 
all  over  like  ?  Stiff,  aint  ye  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen  with  a  little  sigh;  "but  it 
will  wear  off,  I  guess." 

"  Whar's  you  gwine  now  ?  over  to  de  factory  ?  No 
you  aint!  Now  you  jes'  goes  up  and  lays  down 
agin ;  and  when  it's  time  I'll  call  you.  Dat  ar  fac 
tory  don't  see  you  dis  day,  nor  none  o'  de  folks 
what's  in  it  nieder.  You  jest  go  to  bed  agin, 
Stephen  Kay — ef  dat's  your  name.  Go  !  you's  hot 


SYMPATHY.  235 

gwine  out  nohow.  Master's  'way  to-day,  and  I'm 
boss  here.  You  minds  me  !  " 

Stephen  made  little  resistance.  He  obeyed  J onto, 
and  slept  away  the  time  till  she  called  him  to  a 
late  breakfast.  A  very  nice  breakfast  she  had  pre 
pared  for  the  little  boy,  and  had  deferred  her  own 
till  she  could  take  it  with  him.  And  then  she 
watched  him  and  served  him  and  petted  him,  till 
she  had  coaxed  him  to  do  fair  justice  to  her  prep 
arations;  and  till  then  she  did  not  enter  upon 
business. 

"You  looks  a  heap  better,"  was  her  opening  re 
mark  then.  "  Feels  sort  o'  peart  agin  ?  " 

"I  don't  know — yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  do  not 
know  what  peart  is." 

"  Nebber  mind.  Now  you  tell  me  what  war  all 
dat  yesterday.  Dar  is  somefin  to  tell,  and  I'se  set 
my  mind  I'se  gwine  to  hear  it.  What  war  it  all  ? 
Some  o'  de  debbil's  work — dat  I  know." 

Stephen  looked  undecided.  "  Jonto,  I  don't  want 
to  tell,"  he  said. 

"  You'se  got  to  tell  somebody.  Ef  .you  don't  tell 
me,  I'll  jes'  fetch  Mr.  Har'nbrook  in ;  and  I  reckon 
you'd  best  tell  me.  Den  we'll  see  what's  next  to 
be  done." 

Thus  constrained,  Stephen  saw  no  help  for  it, 
and  gave  an  account  of  his  yesterday's  trials,  more 
full  and  detailed  than  he  had  meant  to  make  it; 
but  sympathy  was  alluring,  and  Jonto's  black  face 
was  shining  and  twinkling  with  sympathy.  She 
never  took  her  eyes  off  Stephen,  she  never  inter- 


236  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

rupted  him,  only  now  and  then  put  a  word  of  ques 
tion  to  help  her  understanding  of  the  whole. 

"  Wall — I  allays  knowed  Satan  war  busy,"  she 
remarked  then;  "but  I  didn'  know  as  he  had  quite 
sich  a  grip  o'  our  folks.  What  is  you  gwine  to 
do  about  it,  hey  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  do  anything,  Jonto." 

"Tell  de  master?" 

"  No,  I  guess  not." 

"Why  so  not,  hey?" 

"  I  think  it's  best  not,  Jonto.  You  know,  the 
Bible  says  we  must  forgive  people ;  and  that  would 
be  punishing  them." 

"  'Spect  it  would !  Like  to  see  Mr.  Har'nbrook's 
eyes,  once,  ef  he  knowed.  My !  he'd  be  powerful 
mad.  Kin  you  forgive  dose  folks,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  can,  Jonto." 

"Den  I  don't!  Dar!  I  aint  boun'  to  forgive 
nobody  widout  it's  my  enemies,  and  I  haint  got 
none.  I'd  like  to  hab  my  hands  in  dat  ar  Wilkins' 
har !  and  dat  oder — what  you  call  him? — so  I  would. 
An'  what's  you  gwine  to  say  to  Posie  ?  for  she'll  be 
arter  you; — and  here  she  are!  " 

In  came  Posie,  to  be  sure.  She  had  been  there 
once  before  that  morning  and  Jonto  had  put  her 
off.  Now  the  little  girl  laid  hold  of  Stephen,  after 
tender  inquiries  as  to  how  he  felt. 

"Come  along,"  she  said,  pulling  his  hand;  "let's 
go  somewheres  where  we  can  talk.  Shall  we  go 
to  the  brook,  Stephen  ?  " 

"Jes'    you   keep    indoors,    Posie,"    said   Jonto. 


SYMPATHY.  237 

"Your  pa  aint  home,  and  Stephen  aint  fit  to  go 
to  de  factory  nohow;  and  I  wouldn'  trust  dat  ar 
Gordon  ef  he  found  him  roun'.  You  keep  him 
whar  dar  won't  nobody  cotch  sight  of  him.  Take 
him  up  to  your  garret  window,  why  don't  you  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE   CHILDREN. 

POSIE  hailed  this  idea  and  dragged  Stephen  off 
with  her.  Up  all  the  stairs  there  were  to  go 
up,  until  they  came  to  the  garret  loft;  which  was 
but  a  small  space,  most  of  the  floor  being  parti 
tioned  off  for  chambers  and  store  and  lumber 
rooms.  From  this  little  loft,  at  one  side,  was  a 
step  ladder  of  six  or  eight  steps,  leading  out 
through  a  dormer  window  to  the  flat  roof;  and 
at  the  threshold  of  this  window  door  was  a  most 
beautiful  place  for  sitting  and  enjoying  a  lovely 
view.  Over  the  flat  roof  the  eye  went  to  a  wide 
stretch  of  level  green  country,  with  its  houses, 
fences,  trees,  farm  fields,  and  roads;  through  this 
country,  at  some  distance,  on  one  side,  rolled  a 
faint  blue  river,  like  a  pale  ribband;  and  in  an 
other  direction,  broad  and  fair,  lay  the  water  of  a 
large  lake,  with  wooded  borders.  Stephen  had 
never  been  up  here  before,  and  was  greatly  de 
lighted.  The  air  was  warm  and  sweet,  and  the 
lofty  outlook  was  inspiring. 

"  Aint  it  nice ! "   said   Posie   in   answer  to   his 
(238) 


THE  CHILDREN.  239 

words.  "  And  nobody  will  find  us  up  here.  No 
body  can.  Pa  likes  this  place,  and  so  do  I." 

"  Don't  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  like  it  ?  " 

"  No.  She  says  it's  too  much  trouble.  She  never 
comes  here.  Ma  minds  trouble;  pa  and  I  don't. 
Do  you  mind  trouble?  I  know,  though." 

"I  don't  mind  trouble  when  there  is  anything 
to  be  got  by  it.  I  wouldn't  mind  going  up  twice 
as  many  stairs  to  get  to  this." 

"  Well  now  you  can  talk,  Stephen,  and  nobody 
will  hear  you,  only  me.  Now  tell  me  all  about 
Sunday." 

"  But  I  don't  want  anybody  to  know,  Posie." 

"  I  won't  tell." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  I'll  say  I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"  0  Posie,  Posie  !  you  mustn't  say  that.  Not  if  I 
tell  you." 

"That's  the  easiest  way.  Why  mustn't  I  say 
so?" 

"  0  Posie,  God  says  we  mustn't.  It  is  what  he 
don't  like." 

"What?" 

"  Telling  stories.  *  A  lying  tongue  is  but  for  a 
moment.'" 

"  That  aint  lying." 

"  0  yes,  Posie.  Saying  what  isn't  true — that  is 
lying." 

*'  But  it's  no  harm.  Everybody  does  it,  except 
you." 

"  Nobody  does  it,  who  loves  Jesus.     And  if  any- 


240  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

body  does  it,  He  is  displeased.  It  is  always  harm 
to  displease  him.  And  I  dorit  want  you  to  displease 
him." 

"  Why  not  ?  what  will  he  do  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  that,  Posie ;  but  Jesus  loves  us  and  wants 
us  to  be  good;  and  he  will  make  us  good,  if  we  will 
let  him.  And  then  it  is  so  happy !  We  belong  to 
him,  and  he  says  we  belong  to  him;  and  he  will 
take  care  of  us,  and  love  us,  and  bring  us  to 
heaven,  and  give  us  white  robes,  and  make  us  like 
the  angels." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  heaven.  I'd  rather  be 
here,  with  pa  and  ma." 

"  0  but  you  wouldn't  say  so  if  you  loved  the 
Lord  Jesus.  And  you  can't  stay  here  always ;  and 
where  will  you  go  then  ?  " 

"  Where  pa  goes." 

"Then  you'd  better  get  him  to  go  to  heaven." 

"He  will  of  course;  he's  good." 

"  Is  he  a  servant  of  God  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Posie,  looking  strangely 
at  her  questioner.  "I  never  asked  him.  He's 
good,  anyhow;  that  I  know.  He's  as  good  as  any 
body!"  * 

Stephen  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  He  had 
a  childish  assurance  that  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  good 
ness,  well  as  he  knew  it,  lacked  something  of  the 
Bible  character ;  but  how  tell  that  to  Posie  ?  He 
was  silent.  Posie  however,  intent  on  justifying  her 
father,  watched  him  and  was  not  satisfied  with  his 
silence. 


THE  CHILDREN.  241 

•'Stephen!"  she  urged, — "he's  as  good  as  any 
body." 

"Is  he  a  servant  of  God,  Posie?"  Stephen  re- 
peated,  feeling  challenged. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Because  God  takes  only  his  servants  to  be  with 
him." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"The  Bible  says  so." 

"  I  don't  care  what  the  Bible  says !  I  want  to 
know  what  they  did  to  you  Sunday  ?  " 

"  But  I  can't  tell  you,  Posie,  unless  you  will  pro 
mise  that  you  will  not  tell  it  again,  and  that  you 
will  not  say  anything  about  it  that  isn't  true." 

"  Go  on,  Stephen.  I'll  see,"  said  Posie  diplomat 
ically. 

"  But  you  must  promise,  Posie.  And  oh  Posie ! 
I  want  you  to  belong  to  Jesus !  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  'Cause  I  want  you  to  be  good." 

"Aint  I  good  now?" 

"Why  Posie! — not  when  you  say  things  that 
are  not  true." 

"  Everybody  says  things  sometimes  that  are  not 
true." 

"  0  no,  Posie !  not  the  people  that  belong  to 
Jesus.  They  don't.  They  always  tell  the  truth — 
even  if  they  were  to  die  for  it." 

"  What's  the  harm  ?     Ma  does  it,  and  pa." 

"But  God  says  we  mustn't,"  said  Stephen,  shak 
ing  his  head. 


242  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Posie  confidentially. 
"  I  don't  believe  they  either  of  'em  care  much  what 
God  says." 

"But  I  wish  they  did,"  said  Stephen.  "And  0, 
Posie,  I  want  you  to  be  good ! " 

The  little  girl  looked  wonderingly  at  Stephen's 
earnest  face  and  the  eyes  which  came  to  her  so 
lovingly.  Then  Stephen's  hand  came  too,  softly 
touching  and  stroking  the  fair  blooming  little 
cheek.  Posie's  face  changed. 

"  Stephen,"  she  said,  snuggling  up  to  him  in  the 
window  seat,  "  I'll  do  just  whatever  you  do !  " 

"Will  you?" 

"  Yes,  just !  And  you  must  never  go  away,  Ste 
phen;  you  must  always  stay  with  me;  and  you 
must  always  belong  to  me,  and  1  always  belong  to 
you." 

"  Well,  we  will,"  said  Stephen.  "  I  know  I  shall 
always  belong  to  you:" 

"And  I  will  always  belong  to  you.  Now  Ste 
phen,  tell  me  about  Sunday." 

It  was  a  long  recital,  for  Posie  wanted  every  de 
tail;  and  seeing  that  he  gave  up  his  secret  at  all, 
Stephen  took  the  comfort  of  sympathy  and  went 
into  the  story  thoroughly.  Long  the  children  sat 
there,  eagerly  questioning  and  answering;  the  two 
being  as  much  one,  for  the  moment,  as  fellow  feel 
ing  could  make  them.  Then  feelings  parted. 

"Don't  you  hate  that  Wilkins,  and  that  other 
man,  awfully  ?  "  said  Posie. 

"No,  I  guess  not." 


THE  CHILDREN.  243 

"  I  do !  I  hate  'em  as  bad  as  can  be.  I'd  like 
to  whip  'em — 0  till  they  were  a'most  dead ! " 

"You  mustn't  feel  so.     Tisri't  right." 

*'  /think  it  is  right.     It's  just  what  they  deserve." 

"The  Bible  says  it  aint  right." 

"I  think  the  Bible  seems  to  be  a  very  queer 
book.  Are  you  going  to  do  just  as  the  Bible  says  ?  " 

"  Why  of  course.  And  you  too,  Posie;  for  you 
said  you  would  do  as  I  do." 

"  Well,  then  it  mustn't  be  too  queer.  Aint  you 
going  to  tell  pa  ?  " 

Stephen  shook  his  head. 

"  You  ought  to.  He'd  fix  'em !  I  know  he 
would." 

"  Yes,  Posie,  but  I've  got  to  forgive  'em." 

"  You  cant     I  can't.     I  never  will !  " 

"  0  but  we  must.     I  think  I  do  now." 

" You  cant"  Posie  repeated.  " You  cannot  for 
give  'em ;  and  the  Bible  don't  want  you  to  do  what 
you  can't  do,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  does,  Posie;  for  what  we  cannot  do, 
Jesus  can,  and  he  will  help  us.  I  think  he  has 
helped  me;  for  I  asked  him;  and  now  I  am  not 
angry  at  Calcott  and  Wilkins." 

"Not  angry!" 

"No." 

"  Don't  you  hate  'em  ?  " 

"No." 

"Stephen" — lowering  her  voice,— "aint  you  afraid 
of 'em?" 

"No,  Posie.     I  was  afraid;  but  I  am  not  now." 


244  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Suppose  they  were  to  try  to  do  something  to 
you  again  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  they  will.  I  do  not  think  God 
will  let  'em." 

"You  think  God  will  take  care  of  you,  Stephen?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  will." 

"Better  than  my  pa  could?" 

"Yes,  a  great  deal  better.  Why,  Posie,  God  can 
do  anything;  and  I  am  his  child." 

"  Then  I  guess  he  will  take  care  of  you,"  said 
Posie  thoughtfully. 

Stephen  lay  by  only  that  one  day.  Next  morn 
ing  he  was  in  his  place  again.  Nobody  made  the 
least  allusion  to  his  being  missing  on  Monday,  with 
one  exception.  Gordon  in  the  course  of  the  morn 
ing  came  down  to  the  room  where  Stephen  was, 
and  casually  asked  him  what  he  had  done  with 
himself  yesterday?  Calcott  and  Wilkins  were  close 
by.  Stephen  answered  with  his  usual  politeness 
and  also  with  his  usual  composure,  that  something 
had  kept  him  at  home. 

"Something,  eh?     What  was  the  something?" 

"  I  went  to  bed  with  a  very  bad  headache,  sir, 
the  night  before;  and  they  didn't  think  I  was  fit 
to  come." 

Gordon  looked  sharp  at  him,  but  said  no  more; 
and  that  was  the  end  of  the  whole  matter  as  far  as 
immediate  consequences  were  concerned.  Calcott 
and  Wilkins  never  repeated  their  attempt,  and  in 
deed  rather  let  Stephen  alone  thenceforth;  and  Mr. 
Gordon,  much  to  the  boy's  comfort,  followed  the 


THE  CHILDREN.  245 

same  wise  policy.  Indeed  Gordon  had  wisdom 
enough  to  see  that  any  other  line  of  action  would 
be  in  a  high  degree  unpopular  among  the  workmen. 
A  word  here  and  there  had  shewn  him  that  most  of 
them  liked  Stephen  and  that  he  was  likely  to  become 
the  pet  of  the  place.  Moreover,  it  was  evident  he 
had  friends  at  "the  house."  And,  for  there  was 
really  a  third  element  in  Mr.  Gordon's  considera 
tions,  it  was  also  plain  that  Stephen  had  not  tried 
to  do  anything  to  his  disadvantage.  He  durst  not 
— was  Gordon's  comment  on  this  thought;  but  he 
remembered  too  the  boy's  sweet,  frank  face,  and 
could  not  prevent  the  notion  that  it  did  not  look 
like  revenge-taking. 

So,  most  unexpectedly  and  wonderfully,  Ste 
phen  had  peace.  Nobody  meddled  with  him,  un 
less  kindly.  Wilkins  and  Calcott  let  him  alone, 
indeed,  as  if  he  were  not  in  existence;  yet  even 
in  them  a  certain  degree  of  respect  by  degrees 
began  to  mingle  with  their  dislike  of  him.  "  He's 
a  game  little  chap,"  Calcott  remarked  to  the  other 
fellow;  "I  do  believe  he  haint  said  the  first  word 
of  what  happened  that  day." 

"  He  knows  we'd  kill  him,"  growled  Wilkins. 

"  He  knows  we  wouldn't.  Don't  be  a  fool,  Wil 
kins.  He's  more  of  a  man  than  you  are,  this  minute." 

"  Best  go  and  make  an  apology  to  him,"  sneered 
Wilkins. 

Calcott  did  not  that;  but  after  a  time  he  allowed 
Stephen  to  see  that  he  was  quite  with  the  other 
men  in  holding  the  new  little  boy  in  kindly  regard. 


246  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

And  from  this  time  Stephen's  life  flowed  on 
smoothly.  His  morning  and  evening  duties  in  the 
factory  were  regularly  done;  he  began  to  learn  bits 
of  the  more  proper  factory  work,  and  shewed  himself 
so  diligent  and  so  apt  that  he  won  general  applause. 
Every  one  of  the  workmen  made  a  pleasure  of  in 
structing  him ;  his  friend  Mr.  Nutts  and  one  or  two 
others  took  special  pains  to  shew  and  to  help  him  how 
to  do  things  in  the  best  way ;  and  it  was  not  long  be 
fore,  up  to  the  mark  of  his  strength,  Stephen  could 
hold  his  own  with  anybody  in  the  place.  He  and 
PosieTiad  few  chances  now  to  sail  boats;  he  was  too 
much  engaged  and  too  intent  on  learning  the  busi 
ness  ;  but  they  were  together  a  great  part  of  every 
Sunday,  and  the  friendship  strengthened  with  every 
week  that  went  by.  So  many  a  week  went  by ;  the 
summer  passed,  and  the  autumn  and  winter  came. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  the  two  children  were 
sitting  alone  together  before  the  kitchen  fire.  I 
don't  know  where  Jonto  was,  but  she  was  not  there, 
and  the  two  were  as  cosy  as  possible.  They  had 
been  roasting  some  chestnuts  in  the  ashes,  and  now 
were  eating  and  talking. 

"  0  Stephen,"  Posie  suddenly  burst  out,  "  I  had 
forgotten  !  I  have  got  something  to  tell  you." 

"What  is  it? — See,  Posie,  there  is  a  nice  fat 
one." 

"  It's  something  I  don't  like,  and  it's  something 
you  won't  like.  Guess  what  it  is." 

"  Are  you  going  away  somewheres  ?  " 

"  How  could  you  guess?     No,  it's  not  that  exactly; 


THE  CHILDREN.  247 

I'm  not  really  going  away;  but  you  came  very  near 
it.  I  am  going  to  school." 

"To  school!" — Stephen  forgot  his  chestnuts. 
"Where,  Posie?" 

"  0  not  far,  just  to  Cowslip.  I  hate  it,  but  ma 
eays  I  must,  or  I  shall  never  grow  up  to  be  a  lady. 
What's  my  going  to  school  to  do  with  it  ?  I  should 
grow  up  all  the  same." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  be  a  lady,  would  you,  if  you 
didn't  know  anything?"  Stephen  queried  doubt 
fully. 

"I  would  always  be  Posie,  wouldn't  I?" 

"  Yes ;  but  Posie  ought  to  be  everything  nice.  0 
Posie,  I  should  think  you'd  be  so  glad !  " 

"Would  you  be  glad,  if  you  were  going?" 

"  I  guess  I  would !  See,  Posie,  how  are  you  going  ? 
Will  Mr.  Hardenbrook  take  you  in  his  wagon  ?  " 

"  No,  he  says  he  can't.     I'll  have  to  walk." 

"All  alone?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  care.  I  don't  mind  the  walk. 
What  I  don't  like,  is  to  sit  in  school  and  write  copies 
and  do  sums.  I  do  hate  sums." 

"01  like  'em !  I  like  sums,  ever  so  much.  Only 
L  can't  do  'em." 

"  What  can  you  do,  Stephen  ?    Can  you  write  ?  " 

"  A  little.  Mother,  she  taught  me  to  read  and  to 
write,  and  she  began  to  teach  me  arithmetic;  and 
then,  she  got  so  sick  she  couldn't." 

"  Was  she  good  ?  "  said  Posie.  But  Stephen  did 
not  answer.  A  wave  of  recollection  had  come  ovei 
him,  and  his  head  sank  a  little. 


248  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  have  ma  teach  me"  Posie 
went  on.  "  She  always  gets  cross." 

"She  never  was  cross,"  said  Stephen  gently. 

"  And  you're  never  cross,  either,  are  you?  I  like 
you,  Stephen — 0  I  like  you  all  the  world !  I  like 
you  so  much.  But  I  am  cross  sometimes." 

"Not  very  often,  Posie.  You're  never  cross  to 
me." 

"  I  should  think  not !  "  said  the  little  girl.  "  And 
do  you  love  me,  Stephen  ?  as  much  as  I  do  you  ? 
And  will  you  always  love  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  Posie.  Better  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
world." 

"  That's  nice !  "  said  the  little  girl,  clapping  her 
hands.  "  Because  you  always  say  what  is  true." 

"And  you  do  too,  now,  Posie,  don't  you?  " 

"01  don't  know !  Sometimes  it's  too  difficult ;  and 
then— I  don't." 

"  But  those  are  just  the  times,  when  the  angels 
listen,  to  see  if  we  are  the  real  servants  of  God  or 
not.  And  Jesus  looks  too,  to  see  whether  we  are 
or  not.  Anybody  can  do  right  when  it's  easy,  Posie." 

"  Yes,"  said  Posie  nodding.  "  I  do  it  when  it's 
easy.  You  do  it  when  it's  hard.  That's  why  -I 
love  you." 


CHAPTEK  XXI. 
THE  SLED. 

"  DA,"  said  Posie  the  next  morning  at  breakfast, 

F  — "pa,  Stephen  ought  to  go  to  school,  when 
I  go." 

"  Stephen ! "  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook.  "  What  put 
that  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  He'd  like  to  go." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  'Cause  I  asked  him.    He'd  like  to  go,  dreadfully!  " 

"  It  would  be  just  like  you,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  to 
send  him  ! "  remarked  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  wife;  and 
as  she  said  it,  she  arched  her  eyebrows  a  little,  and 
her  nostrils  quivered  a  little,  and  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  drew  down.  "That  would  be  the  finishing, 
touch ! " 

"To  what,  Maria? 

"  To  your  gooseness,  I  should  say.  I  think  you're 
a  regular  goose  about  that  child ;  and  about  every 
body  in  general,  who  isn't  of  your  own  family." 

"  Do  I  let  my  own  family  suffer,  then  ?  " 

"You  would,  if  there  came  stray  children  enough 

along.     You  cannot  withstand  them.     You  don't 

(249) 


250  STEPHEN,   M.D 

seem  to  have  money  for  anything  else,  except  to 
throw  it  away." 

"That  boy  is  a  very  fine  little  fellow." 

"  Airit  he,  pa  ?  "  said  Posie  enthusiastically.  "  And 
he's  good." 

"How  do  you  know  he  is  good?"  queried  her 
mother  scornfully. 

"  'Cause.     He  tells  the  truth  when  it  aint  easy." 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughed.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
frowned. 

"And  you  know,  ma,"  Posie  went  on,  "you  and 
pa  tell  it  when  it  is  easy.  And  I  do." 

"  You  impertinent  child !  Do  you  mean  to  say 
your  mother  does  not  speak  truth  ?  " 

"When  it's  easy,  you  do,  ma." 

"Come,  come,  Posie,  that's  going  too  far,"  said 
her  father,  who  saw  symptoms  of  discomposure  in 
his  wife's  face  which  he  always  hastened  to  get  rid 
of  when  he  saw  them.  "  You  have  no  business  to 
speak  so  to  your  mother." 

"  I'm  telling  the  truth  though,  pa.  When  people 
ask  her  for  money,  she  always  says  she's  'sorry 
.she  has  got  none  in  her  purse ;'  and  when  they're 
gone  she  says  she  has  got  some,  or  she's  glad  she 
hasn't." 

"Why  Posie,  what  do  you  mean?"  said  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook,  half  angry  and  half  laughing.  "Who 
has  asked  me  for  money  ?  " 

"  Deacon  Sumner,  ma,  to  get  books  for  the  Sun 
day  school  library." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  looked  at  each  other 


THE  SLED.  251 

across  the  table  and  both  laughed;  though  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook' s  nostrils  were  quivering  uneasily. 

"  And,  ma,  when  Mrs.  Barnes  was  coming  along 
yesterday  in  4ier  wagon,  you  said  you  hoped  to 
goodness  she  wasn't  coming  in;  and  when  she 
came,  you  said  you  were  as  glad  to  see  her  as 
could  be." 

"If  you  were  a  little  older,"  said  the  lady,  in 
whose  face  displeasure  began  to  predominate,  "you 
would  know,  Posie,  that  that  is  politeness." 

"  Well,  that  is  what  I  said,"  repeated  Posie ;  "  you 
speak  truth  when  you  don't  want  to  be  polite." 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughed  again,  but  his  wife 
put  her  face  in  her  handkerchief. 

"  Pa,  Stephen  ought  to  go  to  school,"  said  Posie, 
disregarding  this  effect  of  her  words,  and  returning 
to  the  charge.  „ 

"  Where  is  he  ?     Go  fetch  him." 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook !  "  said  his  wife,  uncovering 
her  face  as  Posie  ran  off.  and  speaking  with  great 
emphasis, — "you  are  never  going  to  do  that?" 

"  We  will  see.     I  don't  know  but  I  ought." 

"What  is  that  boy  to  you,  I  should  like  to 
know?" 

"  Well,  if  you  ask  it, — he  is  my  charge.  And  I 
have  half  forgotten  him  these  months." 

"What  made  him  your  charge?  Are  you  bound 
to  take  up  all  the  desolate  children  you  can  find  ? 
I  really  think,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  you  are  unnatural 
towards  your  own.  Every  Lit  that  you  give  away 
to  others^  you  must  remember,  is  taken  from  Posie." 


252  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  don't  know  that. —  Well,  Stephen,  how  do 
you  do  ?  " 

"I  am  very  well,  sir,  thank  you." 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  have  grown  this  summer. 
You're  a  good  deal  taller  than  you  were." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  how  are  you  getting  along  ?  " 

The  boy's  face  answered  for  him,  as  well  as  his 
words.  Clear,  honest,  manly,  the  smile  of  content 
and  bright  energy  was  pleasant  to  see.  Pleasant 
to  one  spectator  at  least;  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  looked 
at  him,  but  seemed  to  get  no  satisfaction  from  the 
sight. 

"  What  Have  you  and  Posie  been  saying  about 
going  to  school  ?  " 

"  She  said  she  was  going,  sir." 

"  Did  you  say  you  wanted  to  go  too  ?  " 

Stephen's  face  flushed  high.  "No,  sir.  Yes, 
sir!  I  didn't  say  just  that;  but  I  believe  she 
asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  go  too,  and  I  said  if 
would." 

"  So  you  would.  What  would  you  like  to  go  to 
school  for  ?  " 

"  Why  of  course !  "  put  in  Mrs.  Hardenbrook — 
"  to  get  rid  of  work." 

"That  is  not  my  reason,"  said  Stephen,  a  shade 
coming  over  the  brightness  of  his  face. 

"What  then?  Go  on  and  say,"  Mr.  Harden 
brook  urged  encouragingly. 

"I  want  to  be  a  man,  sir." 

The  words  were  modestly  spoken,  quietly,  with 


THE  SLED.  253 

a  slight  flush  coming  up  again  in  the  boy's  cheeks; 
and  Mr.  Hardenbrook  smiled.  But  his  wife,  as 
usual,  took  things  differently. 

"  A  man ! "  she  repeated.  "  If  you  go  on  growing 
at  the  rate  you  are  doing,  you'll  be  a  man  soon 
enough.  Soon  enough  for  all  concerned." 

Stephen  looked  at  her  as  if  he  could  have  said 
something  to  that;  however,  he  was  quite  silent. 

"  Perhaps  Stephen  is  thinking  that  it  takes  some 
thing  more  than  inches  to  make  a  man,"  Mr.  Har 
denbrook  suggested  kindly. 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  Stephen.  "  Because,  if  I  knew 
nothing,  I  should  be  only  a  bigger  boy." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  ?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook,  with  her  nostrils  in  full  play,  as  they 
were  wont  when  the  lady  was  incensed  or  disdain 
fill.  "  I  thought  you  were  going  to  learn  a  cabinet 
maker's  trade  ?  " 

"Yes,  what  do  you  want  to  know,  Stephen?" 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  added  encouragingly. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  all  I  can,  sir." 

"  And  you  don't  mind  hard  work  ?  " 

"No,  sir."     Stephen  smiled. 

"  Will  you  keep  the  factory  rooms  in  order,  night 
and  morning,  and  walk  to  Cowslip  and  back  again 
every  day  ?  " 

"I?     0,  gladly,  sir!" 

"Yes,  and  what  for?"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 
"/always  approve  of  keeping  things  in  their  places, 
and  people." 

"We  do  not  know  Stephen's  place,  ray  dear. 


254  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

He  may  be  President  of  the  United  States  yet;  and 
I  approve  of  preparing  him  to  be  a  good  President, 
if  he's  to  be  one  at  all.  Well  that  is  settled.  You 
shall  go  to  school  with  Posie,  Stephen." 

"  Pa,"  said  Posie,  "  he  won't  have  time  to  sweep 
tip  the  factory.  Don't  you  know  we  must  start  by 
half  past  seven  o'clock,  to  get  to  Cowslip  in  time  ? 
He  can't  do  it." 

"That  is  for  Stephen  to  say.  I  think  he  can 
do  it." 

"  0  yes,  sir ! "  answered  the  boy,  whose  face  was 
beaming  with  joy.  "  I'll  do  it  easy  enough." 

"  Got  any  clothes  fit  to  go  to  school  in  ?  Well,  be 
off  now ;  I'll  speak  to  Jorito  and  see  what's  wanting." 

*'  I  should  think  you'd  send  for  your  tailor  to 
come  out  and  measure  him  ! "  observed  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook ;  while  Stephen  withdrew,  and  Posie  threw 
herself  on  her  father's  neck  in  a  transport  of  delight, 
averring  that  he  was  "  the  very  best  and  nicest 
man  in  the  world." 

"  Your  mother  used  to  think  so  once,"  remarked 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  humorously. 

"I  do  still,"  insisted  that  lady.  "Only  I  think 
you  are  eaten  up  by  a  craze  of  benevolence,  which 
if  it  don't  leave  your  own  family  poor,  it  will  not 
be  your  fault." 

"  One  little  boy's  schooling  won't  break  me  yet." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  next  if  you  would  propose 
to  make  over  your  business  to  him,  and  marry  him 
to  Posie." 

"  Prophecies  are  their  own  fulfilment  sometimes. 


THE  SLED.  255 

I  would  not  recommend  you  to  publish  your  views 
too  extensively." 

So  it  fell  out,  that  the  next  week,  when  Posie 
began  her  school  going,  Stephen  accompanied  her. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  drove  them  down,  the  first  morn 
ing,  and  introduced  them ;  after  that  the  two  chil 
dren  went  and  came  alone.  And  even  Mrs.  Har 
denbrook  was  forced  to  confess  that  it  was  a  good 
thing  for  Posie  to  have  some  one  with  her,  and  that 
it  would  have  been  very  inconvenient  and  nearly 
impossible  for  her  father  to  take  her  and  fetch  her 
every  day.  The  elders  were  content.  But  what 
shall  I  say  of  the  joy  of  the  children?  It  was 
something  unmeasured,  inexpressible,  inexhausti 
ble.  They  were  so  glad,  as  they  went,  hand  in 
hand  or  side  by  side,  along  the  road  to  Cowslip, 
Stephen  carrying  lunch  basket  and  books,  Posie 
picking  flowers,  and  dancing  for  very  lightness  of 
foot;  they  were  so  glad,  both  of  them,  that  they 
seemed  to  have  no  feet  and  to  be  borne  of  wings. 
They  did  not  feel  the  ground;  they  did  not  get 
tired ;  they  took  up  their  studies  and  tasks  with  a 
zeal  and  good  will  before  which  no  difficulties 
could  stand;  all  the  school  day  was  triumph  and 
delight,  and  the  walk  home  after  it  was  the  rarest 
of  entertainments.  How  much  they  had  to  say  to 
each  other!  There  was  the  whole  day's  experience 
to  be  gone  over ;  there  were  studies  to  be  discussed, 
and  lessons  half  learned  as  they  went  along,  some 
times;  there  were  confidences  to  be  exchanged  re 
specting  this  and  another  of  their  schoolmates ;  and 


256  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

there  was  the  hungry  expectation  of  supper  as  they 
neared  home.  No  walks  to  be  taken  in  after  years 
would  ever  quite  equal  the  fresh  charm  or  the  spicy 
sweetness  of  these.  Never  would  feet  be  so  light 
again,  or  heads  so  free,  or  hearts  so  unshadowed. 
Yet  even  this  delight  received  an  enhancement  as 
the  weeks  went  on,  though  one  might  have  thought 
enhancement  impossible. 

Snow  had  come.  It  comes  early  in  those  regions ; 
this  year  it  had  held  off  unusually;  but  with  the 
first  of  December  it  had  given  a  powdering  to  the 
brown  and  bare  outer  world,  and  a  week  or  two 
later  it  came  down  in  earnest.  It  was  no  question 
of  powdering;  the  two  children  in  their  way  to 
school  had  inches  of  soft,  cold  snow  to  tread  at 
every  step,  and  the  going  was  laborious.  They 
laughed  at  it,  it  is  true;  at  what  did  they  not 
laugh?  However,  two  days  after  that,  when 
Jon  to  came  downstairs  in  the  morning,  she  found 
not  only  her  fire  burning  brightly  and  her  kettle 
singing;  but  Stephen  was  there  with  a  face  of  pride 
and  triumph  eyeing  something  on  the  kitchen 
floor.  And  the  something  was  a  sled,  the  prettiest 
possible,  made  of  cherry  wood,  stained  and  polished 
and  finished  with  great  neatness. 

"  Whar's  you  got  dat  ar  ?  "  was  Jorito's  instant 
demand. 

"  I  made  it," 

"  You  made  it  ?     What  you  make  it  of?  " 

"Nice  cherry  boards,  Jonto.  Now  I've  got  to 
fix  a  seat  on — and  then — " 


THE  SLED.  257 

Jonto  stood  in  speechless  admiration,  while  Ste 
phen  proceeded  to  fit  carefully  the  lega  of  a  sort  of 
low  bench  into  holes  made  for  them  on  the  sled; 
then  he  stood  up  and  looked  at  it,  well  content. 

"You'se  nebber  done  made  dat  all  yourself,  boy?" 
she  said. 

"  Yes  I  did,  Jonto.  Mr.  Nutts  shewed  me  how 
to  do  the  mortising — but  I  did  it  myself.  Don't 
you  think  that  cherry  wood  is  prettier  than 
painting  ? '' 

Jonto  gave  unqualified  applause.  "  An'  what's 
dat  ar  seat  for,  den  ?  I  nebber  see  'em  fixed  up  so." 

"That's  for  Posie  to  sit  upon.  Now  I'm  going 
to  give  her  a  ride  over  the  snow.  She  couldn't 
walk,  when  the  snow  comes  to  be  deeper.  It 
would  be  too  heavy 'for  her." 

"I  s'pose  dar  aint  not'ing  too  heavy  for  you? 
Well,  I'se  gwine  to  git  you  a  fust  rate  breakfust, 
den,  if  you'se  gwine  to  drive  to  Cowslip,  and  be 
team  yourself  besides.  You  see  if  I  don't." 

"  Why  so  ypu  always  do,"  said  Stephen  laughing. 
For  he  was  very  happy,  and  a  little  proud  of  his 
work;  and  when  Mr.  Hardenbrook  came  to  exam 
ine  it  he  said  Stephen  had  reason.  It  was  very 
neatly  made,  and  capital  work  for  a  boy  of  his  age. 
Stephen  took  the  praise  he  knew  he  deserved,  and 
I  suppose  he  enjoyed  it;  but  his  head  was  full  of 
the  pride  and  glory  of  seeing  Posie  on  it  and  draw 
ing  her  to  school;  and  when  the  little  lady,  well 
muffled  up,  took  her  seat,  and  Stephen  harnessed 
himself  to  the  ropes  and  drew  the  sled  off,  the 


258  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

whole  family  standing  at  the  door  and  looking  on 
at  them,  it  was  a  moment  of  great  and  crowning 
•satisfaction ;  probably  never  to  be  exceeded  by  any 
subsequent  triumph  in  a  life  of  successes.  Yet  the 
first  minute  was  not  so  good  as  the  second,  and  the 
third. 

"  Are  you  comfortable,  Posie  ?  " 

"0  Stephen,  it's  just  beyond  everything!  "  cried 
Posie,  in  a  tone  which  was  even  more  expressive 
than  her  words.  "0  what  made  you  think  of  it?" 

"  I've  been  thinking  of  it  ever  since  you  told  me 
you  were  going  to  school.  I've  been  nearly  all 
this  while  making  it." 

"  0  Stephen,  it's  so  nice  !  It's  such  fun  !  It's  so 
pleasant,  you  can't  think.  I  ought  to  pull  you  a 
little  way,  just  to  let  you  see  how  nice  it  is." 

"I  like  my  part  best,"  said  Stephen,  toiling  at 
the  moment  up  an  incline.  "You  keep  warm, 
Posie;  that's  all  I  ask  of  you." 

"Mr.  Hardenbrook,"  said  his  helpmate,  as  they 
had  watched  the  children  go  off, — "  don't  you  be 
eilly  about  that  boy." 

"Think  there's  danger,  Maria?" 

"  Men  are  always  in  danger  of  being  silly,  when 
they've  got  a  soft  spot  in  their  heart,  like  you." 

"  Women  used  to  be  called  the  softer  sex,  in  my 
time." 

"That's  all  stuff.  Now  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  don't 
you ! " 

"What?" 

"  Don't  be  silly  about  that  boy." 


THE  SLED.  259 

"  What  are  you  afraid  I  will  do  ?  " 

"  I  can  see  you  have  taken  an  immense  fancy  for 
him ;  arid  you're  just  fit  to  do  anything !  " 

"  What  could  I  do  ?     That's  a  very  fine  boy." 

"  He  thinks  too  much  of  himself." 

"  There  is  not  the  least  appearance  of  it.  He  is 
as  modest  and  quiet  as  a  boy  ought  to  be.  He 
might  teach  Posie  manners." 

"  Posie  is  in  a  different  position  !  " 

"  Does  that  make  good  manners  unnecessary  for 
her  ?  My  dear,  you  cannot  tell  what  position  Ste 
phen  may  be  in  before  he  dies." 

"  I  can't  tell  what  weather  it  will  be  to-morrow. 
But  that  don't  hinder  me  from  knowing  that  it  is 
snowing  to-day." 

"  Snowing  again  !  So  it  is,  I  declare,"  said  Mr. 
Hardenbrook,  holding  out  his  hand  to  catch  some 
of  the  light  flakes  that  were  fluttering  down. 
"  Good  that  Posie  has  got  a  protector." 

"  A  protector !  Now  that  is  not  the  position  for 
that  boy  to  take.  To  your  daughter!  That  is 
what  I  am  afraid  of,  Mr.  Hardenbrook;  that  you 
will  not  keep  him  in  his  place." 

"  My  dear,  we  live  in  a  free  country.  He  will 
take  the  place  he  is  made  for,  and  I  can  neither 
keep  him  in  it  nor  keep  him  out  of  it.  And  really, 
Stephen  is  a  capital  fellow.  Steady  as  a  mill,  and 
bright  as  a  lighthouse.  He  is  learning  the  work 
over  there  fast;  Gordon  says  so;  and  every  thing- 
trusted  to  him  he  takes  care  of." 

"  Well !     Don't  trust  your  daughter  to  him,  when 


260  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

he  gets  a  little  older;  that's  all  I  ask.  I  shall  put 
it  in  Posie's  head,  that  she  is  to  marry  somebody 
she  can  look  up  to." 

"  I  wish  her  mother  had  done  that ! "  said  Mr. 
Hardenbrook,  provoked.  "Pray  do  not  put  any 
thing  in  Posie's  head.  That  is  something  your  sex 
do  not  need.  You  paid  a  compliment  to  mine,  a 
minute  ago;  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  return  it." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SCHOOL  DAYS. 

A  FTER  that,  the  children  almost  wished  there 
/I  could  be  snow  all  the  year  round;  so  great 
was  the  fun  of  the  school  going.  Posie  rode  like  a 
queen,  wrapped  up  in  her  furs;  and  looked  like  a 
queen  too,  a  small  one,  to  Stephen's  fancy.  And 
Stephen,  hardy  and  strong,  drew  the  sled  along 
over  the  snow  with  ease.  Sometimes  the  road  of 
fered  an  incline  of  some  length,  up  which  Stephen 
would  patiently  trudge,  knowing  that  if  there  was 
an  up  there  was  a  down  also;  and  arrived  at  the 
crest  of  the  hill  he  would  put  himself  behind  the 
sled,  lay  fast  hold,  lying  in  fact  half  on  the  sled 
and  half  on  the  snow,  in  order  that  he  might 
guide  it  safely;  and  then  what  a  coaster  they 
took  together !  Posie  said  it  was  magnificent, 
and  boasted  of  her  progress  to  school,  till  she 
was  the  envy  of  every  child  there. 

And  the  evening  rides  were  so  specially  pleasant. 
The  short  winter  day  closing  in,  shades  falling, 
lights  coming  brightly  aslant, — the  air  growing 
keen  and  keener,  the  day's  work  behind  them  and 
the  hot  supper  before;  how  they  sped  along  the 

(261) 


262  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

way,  with  mounting  spirits  at  every  step;  and  really 
making  capital  time.  At  home  they  unwillingly 
separated ;  and  even  that  separation  presently  gave 
way  before  the  strength  of  attraction  which  drew 
the  two  together.  It  happened  one  very  cold 
afternoon  that  Stephen  reached  home  with  his 
fingers  almost  frozen.  Jonto's  fire  was  not  in  a 
lively  state;  and  Posie  pulled  Stephen  in  with  her 
to  go  to  the  parlour,  where  a  grate  full  of  soft  coal 
would  be  sure  to  give  them  a  hospitable  reception. 
So  it  did ;  and  if  Mrs.  Harderibrook  bethought  her 
to  ask  what  was  the  matter  with  Jonto's  fire,  she 
made  no  further  objection  to  the  children's  pleasure. 
They  sat  and  warmed  themselves  and  chatted  over 
the  events  of  the  day,  not  taking  note  that  any 
body  was  listening. 

"Stephen,  are  you  drawing  maps?" 
"Yes." 

"Aintithard?" 

"  No.  It's  the  nicest  of  all  the  things." 
"  I  should  think  it  was  awfully  hard.  Sarah  Ste 
phens  says  it  is.  Do  you  know  what  she  does? 
She  takes  a  piece  of  thin  paper  and  puts  it  on  the 
map,  so  thin  she  can  see  through,  and  she  takes  off 
the  shape." 

"She  can't  make  her  drawing  on  thin  paper." 
"No,  but  she  has  some  way  of  getting  the  marks 
from  the  thin  to  the  thick." 

"  I  don't  wonder  she  says  it's  hard." 
"  Why  ?     I  should  think  that  was  an  easy  way 
I'd  do  so,  if  I  had  it  to  draw." 


SCHOOL  DAYS.  263 

"  0  no,  Posie,  you  wouldn't." 

"  Yes,  I  would.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  'Cause  it  wouldn't  be  honest.  And  I  think  the 
right  way  is  really  the  easiest." 

"  Why  wouldn't  it  be  honest  ?  " 

"Why,  it's  pretending  to  draw  the  map,  when 
she  hasn't  drawn  it.  She  would  never  learn,  that 
way." 

"What's  the  use  of  learning  to  draw  maps?" 

"  It's  one  way  of  learning  geography,  I  suppose. 
I  guess  I  shall  never  forget  again  all  the  queer  shape 
and  the  points  of  North  America." 

"  I  don't  see  the  use,"  said  Posie.  "  It's  in  the 
Atlas ;  and  you  can  find  it  there  always ;  what  for 
should  you  have  it  in  your  head  ?  " 

Stephen  laughed.  "  Other  things  are  in  the  books 
too,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  want  some  of  'em  in  my  head, 
Posie.  I  want  all  I  can  get." 

"What  for?" 

"A  man  that  don't  know  anything  aint  worth 
shucks!  And  I  shall  be  a  man,  some  day." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't.     I  like  you  best  so." 

"  I  can't  stay  so,  though ;  and  I  don't  want  to.  A 
boy  is  no  count  anyhow." 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  said  Posie.  "  You  are  worth  a 
great  deal" 

"  And  you  won't  stay  so  neither,  Posie ;  you  will 
grow  up  too;  and  then  you  will  want  something  in 
your  head." 

"  How  funny  it  would  be  to  be  grown  up !  Then 
you  couldn't  draw  me  to  school,  Stephen." 


264  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"No." 

"  I  wonder  what  could  you  do,  that  would  be  as 
nice  ?  But  I  think  I  could  get  along  without  the 
shape  of  North  America  in  my  head." 

"  You  can't  get  along  at  school  without  it.  Not 
honestly." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  dishonest  to  take  thin 
paper  ? " 

"  Of  course.     It's  making  believe,  and  cheating." 

"  Aint  it  right  sometimes,  to  cheat  a  little  ?  " 

Posie's  face  of  insinuation,  combined  with  the 
sly  tone  in  which  she  put  this  inquiry,  were  too 
much  for  the  gravity  of  Mr.  Hardeiibrook  who  had 
been  listening.  A  roar  of  laughter  broke  up  the 
conversation  which  had  been  going  on  over  the 
fire,  though  neither  of  the  engrossed  talkers  was 
aware  what  had  occasioned  it.  Stephen  however 
arose,  made  his  bow,  and  was  about  to  withdraw, 
when  Jonto  entered  with  the  supper.  Posie  im 
mediately  begged  that  Stephen  might  stay  and 
have  his  supper  with  them. 

"Yes,  stay,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook.  "I  want 
to  talk  to  you,  Stephen,  and  I  never  get  a  chance." 

"  I  wonder  what  will  be  the  next  move ! "  said 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  But  she  said  no  more,  and 
Stephen  sat  down  with  the  family.  Mr.  Harden 
brook  did  talk  to  him,  and  drew  him  out  to  talk ; 
and  was  so  pleased  with  the  ready,  frank,  intel 
ligent  answers  the  boy  gave,  so  interested  in  the 
honest  and  sweet  character  that  belonged  to  him, 
as  it  came  out  in  these  answers,  and  so  taken  with 


SCHOOL  DAYS.  265 

his  modest  pleasant  manner,  that  from  that  time 
he  wanted  to  have  Stephen  always  with  them  at 
table.  And  Posie  took  care  he  should  always  be 
called,  till  it  became  a  settled  thing. 

And  then,  they  could  not  do  without  him.  The 
steps  were  easy,  by  which  they  reached  this  point, 
and  soon  taken.  I  think  they  could  even  less  well 
do  without  him  than  he  without  them ;  though  Ste 
phen  too  was  happy  in  his  new  relations  with  the 
family.  Yet  there  was  less  intimate  sympathy  to 
be  enjoyed  in  their  society  than  he  had  always 
found  in  Jonto;  and  the  talks  and  readings  and 
conferences  with  the  old  Christian  in  the  kitchen 
were  but  partially  balanced  by  all  that  was  said 
or  heard  in  the  parlour.  It  was  more  interesting 
to  read  the  Bible  to  Jorito,  than  to  read  the  news 
paper  to  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  who  moreover  always 
wanted  only  the  poorest  part  of  it;  and  Jonto's 
comments  and  questions  were  wit  and  wisdom, 
compared  with  her  mistress's  dissertations  on  what 
was  read.  And  Stephen  always  felt  that  nobody 
in  the  house  understood  him  or  entered  at  all  into 
his  aims  and  principles,  except  old  Jonto  alone. 
Unless  it  may  be  said,  that  as  time  went  on,  Posie 
herself  drew  more  and  more  decidedly  to  Stephen's 
standpoint  and  conformed  herself  more  and  more 
to  the  rules  of  action  that  guided  him.  The  two 
children  were  knit  faster  in  affection  with  every 
day;  and  partly  no  doubt  through  the  influence  of 
this  affection,  Posie  was  gradually  and  certainly 
changing;  her  sweetness  becoming  more  sweet, 


266  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

and  at  the  same  time  taking  the  grace  of  a  strength 
she  never  used  to  have. 

Stephen  came  to  be  more  than  ever  indispensable 
to  his  new  friends,  when  Posie  was  sent  to  a  dis 
tance  to  school.  This  happened  after  some  four  or 
five  years  of  the  intercourse  I  have  described.  It 
was  decided  then  that  Cowslip  offered  no  adequate 
advantages  for  a  young  lady  of  her  pretensions. 
"She  cannot  learn  anything  there;  only  just  the 
beginnings,"  said  her  mother.  "You  must  send 
her  to  Boston,  Mr.  Hardenbrook." 

"  Boston  !  "  exclaimed  the  father  in  dismay. 

"  Certainly.  Boston  or  New  York ;  but  I  suppose 
you  would  prefer  Boston,  because  it  is  nearer." 

"  And  wouldn't  you  prefer  Boston  because  it  is 
nearer  ? "  asked  the  gentleman  in  mingled  aston 
ishment  and  indignation.  But  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
put  on  a  superior  air. 

"That's  the  difference  between  men  and  wo 
men ! "  she  informed  him.  "  Men  think  just  of 
their  own  pleasure;  it's  all  they  care  for." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  do  not  care  for  youi 
own  pleasure,  Maria  ?  " 

"  Not  where  Posie's  good  is  concerned." 

This  was  conclusive.  "  What  does  she  want  to 
learn,  that  she  cannot  learn  nearer  home?"  Mr. 
Hardenbrook  asked,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

"  How  can  you  ask !  Everything.  One  would 
think  you  expected  Posie  to  marry  one  of  your 
factory  people.  She  must  be  fitted  for  a  different 
fate  than  that" 


SCHOOL  DAYS.  267 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  half  groaned,  but  was  wholly 
dubious  as  to  how  far  his  wife's  plans  might  be  on 
better  grounds  justified.  Certainly  he  would  not 
that  Posie  should  miss  any  possible  advantage,  not 
at  any  cost  to  himself  of  her  sweet  society.  And 
perhaps  the  big  schools  in  the  big  cities — 

Well  in  short  Posie  went.  She  went  to  a  great 
boarding  school  in  Boston;  and  from  that  time  was 
seen  at  home  only  during  the  summer  vacations, 
and  for  a  week  or  two  at  Christmas.  The  long 
stretches  of  time  between  those  wonderful  bright 
spots,  they  must  do  without  her.  Then  Stephen 
became  indeed  as  a  son  of  the  house.  He  took  the 
place  of  a  child,  fully,  in  the  affections  and  in  the 
habits  of  the  family,  in  all  that  regarded  Posie  and 
her  father;  affection  must  not  be  reckoned  in  the 
bargain  so  far  as  we  speak  of  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 
But  with  her  too.  in  all  that  does  not  include  af 
fection,  Stephen  belonged  to  the  comfort  and  con 
venience  and  pleasure  of  the  house.  Posie  gave 
him  the  full  love  that  would  have  been  due  to  a 
brother,  and  Mr.  Hardenbrook  depended  on  the 
boy  more  and  more  as  a  son.  Stephen  could  be 
depended  on.  He  was  growing  fast,  in  every  way ; 
developing  well  in  person,  robust  and  agile  and 
strong,  quick  to  learn,  skilful  to  do;  manly,  with 
a  boy's  brightness  still;  and  as  to  honesty  and 
honour  and  temper,  remaining  what  he  had  been 
from  the  first.  "  True  as  steel,"  Mr.  Hardenbrook 
named  him. 

"You  couldn't  say  more  of  him,  if  he  was  your 


268  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

own  boy,"  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  remarked  one  day, 
with  that  play  of  nostril  and  eyebrow  which  had 
a  touch  of  scorn  or  of  mockery  in  it. 

"  1  might  riot  say  so  much,"  her  husband  returned. 
•*  Stephen  has  learnt  of  his  mother  what  we  have 
never  taught  our  child." 

"What?" 

'•  That  boy  has  principle.  He  is  a  real  Christian, 
I  believe." 

"There  are  different  sorts  of  Christians,  Mr.  Har 
denbrook  !  "  said  his  wife  bridling. 

"Are  there?  Well,  he  is  the  sort  I  like.  He 
is  as  true  as  steel.  Whatever  he  does  he  puts  his 
whole  mind  in  it.  He  has  learned  the  business 
like  a  sprite, — walked  into  it,  you  may  say;  Gor 
don  can  trust  him  now  to  do  what  no  boy  of  his 
years  ever  did  in  my  place  before.  In  fact  he  can 
trust  him  for  anything;  for  what  Stephen  cannot 
do,  he  will  not  undertake  to  do;  and  what  he  does 
undertake  to  do,  I  believe  he  would  do  at  any  cost." 

"  1  hope  you  don't  think  that  cabinet  making  is 
religion?"  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  said,  with  the  above 
play  of  brow  and  nostril. 

"  And  they  all  like  him,"  her  husband  went  on 
musingly.  "  He's  a  universal  favourite." 

"I  do  not  believe  in  people  that  are  universal 
favourites.  There  is  always  a  reason  underneath." 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  found  himself  getting  too  pro 
voked  to  carry  on  the  conversation  safely ;  he  broke  off 
suddenly  and  went  across  to  his  place  of  business. 
Or  rather,  to  his  workpeople's  place  of  business,  for 


SCHOOL  DAYS.  269 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  himself  was  little  there.  There 
was  a  pleasant  hum  of  activity  in  the  rooms,  and 
pleasant  looks  greeted  the  master  wherever  he 
appeared;  for  there  was  always  a  good  understand 
ing  between  Mr.  Hardenbrook  and  his  people ;  but 
he  went  on  without  stopping,  through  one  floor 
after  another,  till  he  found  Stephen.  Pie  was  cori- 
feYring  with  Mr.  Gordon  over  a  paper  that  seemed 
to  be  some  matter  of  calculation  or  accounts.  The 
discussion  was  just  ended,  and  Stephen  with  a 
smile  at  his  benefactor,  withdrew.  Mr.  Harden 
brook  looked  after  him  as  he  went  down  the  room. 
The  boy  had  grown  and  developed  well;  he  was 
tall  and  very  strong;  with  a  good  symmetrical  fig 
ure.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  noticed  that  anew ;  as  also, 
the  peculiar  quiet  carriage  with  which  the  figure 
moved  away,  among  the  men  and  things  of  which 
the  floor  was  full. 

"  What's  up  now  ?  "  he  asked  Gordon.  "  Have 
you  advanced  Stephen  to  the  clerk's  place  ?  " 

"Not  that,"  was  the  answer,  "but  he  is  quick 
at  a  reckoning,  and  I  knew  there  was  a  mistake 
somewhere  in  that  account  of  Dapperdown's;  least 
ways  I  suspicioried  there  was;  and  I  set  Stephen 
at  it" 

"Did  he  find  it?" 

"About  as  spry  as  a  cat  would  catch  a  mouse." 

"I   didn't   know   that  was   one   of  his  recom 
mendations." 

"He's  got  his  head  on  his  shoulders,"  Gordon 
remarked. 


270  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"I  thought  everybody  had  his  head  on  his 
shoulders,"  said  the  master  laughing. 

"  You  know  some  folks  has  got  no  head  at  all, 
don't  ye?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  made  that  discovery." 

"Wall — ye  kin  do  the  rest  of  that  sum,  I  calcu 
late,"  said  the  foreman.  "Some  folks'  heads  is  in 
their  hands;  and  some  is  in  the  clouds;  and  some 
is  in  their  pockets.  Stephen  keeps  his  pockets  warm, 
but  however  his  head's  in  its  place  yet." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  his  pockets  warm '  ?  " 

"  Guess  he  kin  put  twenty-five  cents  together  to 
make  a  quarter,  as  well  as  you  kin." 

"  He  hasn't  twenty-five  cents  in  the  world." 

"Then  my  head's  nowhere,"  said  the  foreman; 
"  and  I  didn't  know  as  I'd  lost  it  yet." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Don't  say  ye  didn'  know  ?  Why  that  ar  feller 
is  makin'  money,  hand  over  hand." 

"  How  does  he  make  money  ?  "  demanded  the  as 
tonished  Mr.  Hardenbrook. 

"Wall — different  ways.  I  guess  it's  no  harm  to 
tell.  He  keeps  school,  for  one  thing.  'Taint  very 
lu-crative;  but  I'll  engage  it  brings  him  in  some 
thing;  and  every  cent  he  gits,  Stephen  sends  it  to 
fetch  in  another  cent;  and  mostly  doos." 

"  You  don't  mean  he  gambles  ?  "  said  the  master 
in  horror.  Gordon  straightened  himself  up  from 
his  work  to  look  at  him. 

"  Gamble !  "  he  repeated.  "Wall,  ye  don't  know 
your  man,  squoire.  There  is  men  and  boys  about 


SCHOOL  DAYS.  271 

the  house  that  doos  that,  I  expect;  but  Stephen! 
• — he's  as  safe  as  a  steel  trap,  to  keep  all  he  gits. 
They've  tried  it  on  him,  I  shouldn't  wonder,  but 
it  was  no  go.  I  told  you  he  has  his  head  on  his 
shoulders;  you  kin't  bamboozle  him;  and  he's  as 
stiff  as  seven  pokers  too,"  added  Gordon,  perhaps 
remembering  some  old  passages,  when  there  had 
been  a  trial  of  strength  in  which  he  himself  was 
involved. 

It  all  stirred  Mr.  Hardenbrook  most  disagree 
ably,  though  he  pursued  the  subject  no  further. 
He  went  away  meditating.  What  did  Stephen 
want  of  money  ?  Since  the  boy  had  come  to  his 
house  he  had  supplied  all  Stephen's  known  wants; 
taken  care  to  clothe  him  well,  fed  him  at  his  own 
table,  sent  him  to  school,  and  got  him  the  books  he 
had  need  of.  Money  he  had  not  given,  unless  a 
penny  now  and  then  to  buy  crackers  or  the  like; 
and  as  he  told  Gordon,  he  did  not  know  that  Ste 
phen  had  twenty-five  cents  in  the  world.  Now 
suddenly  to  have  him  presented  as  a  capitalist  and 
speculator  was  very  bewildering  and  a  little  irritat 
ing.  What  did  Stephen  want  of  money  ?  and  what 
could  he  do  with  it?  and  how  could  he  have  got 
it,  to  begin  with  ?  Mr.  Hardenbrook  resolved  he 
would  know.  Was  Stephen  perhaps  something 
other  than  the  simple-minded,  honest,  open-hearted 
boy  he  had  thought  him  all  this  while?  To  be 
sure,  the  world  is  deceitful. 


CHAPTEK  XXIII. 

SCHOOL   DAYS   OVEB.  * 

AN  opportunity  to  speak  to  Stephen  without  wit 
nesses  was  not  immediately  found;  meanwhile 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  studied  the  boy.  Study  could 
make  out  no  difference  from  what  Stephen  had 
always  seemed  to  him ;  bright,  honest,  frank,  dili 
gent,  sober,  and  attentive  to  every  possible  want 
of  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  in  which  he  could  pos 
sibly  be  helpful.  So  Stephen  had  always  been, 
from  the  time  he  first  came  into  the  house.  Then 
he  had  been  a  little  fellow ;  now  he  was  grown  tall 
and  stout  and  strong,  but  not  too  tall;  not  over 
grown;  only  well  knit  and  well  developed,  and 
promising  to  be  a  fine-looking  man  by  and  by,  as 
he  was  exceedingly  prepossessing  in  appearance 
now.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  watched  him,  and  loved 
him.  He  had  never  been  disappointed  in  this  boy; 
he  did  not  believe  he  ever  would;  nevertheless  he 
must  find  out  about  this  money-getting.  A  chance 
came  one  evening  when  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  was 
sick  with  a  cold,  and  kept  her  bed  in  consequence. 
Posie  was  far  off"  in  her  boarding  school ;  Mr.  Har 
denbrook  and  Stephen  were  all  the  family  at  table. 
(272) 


SCHOOL  DAYS  OVER.  273 

Jonto  poured  out  tea,  and  left  them.  Mr.  Harden- 
brook  did  not  then  know  exactly  how  to  begin.  He 
was  too  openhearted  a  man  to  know  how  to  meet 
guile  with  guile,  and  much  too  generous  to  like  to 
meet  honesty  with  guile.  Stephen  was  eating  his 
supper  in  the  most  unconcerned  way.  Mr.  Har- 
denbrook  could  not  relish  his.  Nor  could  he  devise 
any  means  of  easily  introducing  the  subject  he 
wished  to  speak  of.  It  had  to  come  out  at  last 
without  introduction. 

"  What  do  you  spend  your  money  for,  Stephen  ?  " 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  put  the  point  blank  question. 
Stephen  raised  his  head  and  stared  in  sudden  as 
tonishment. 

"Yes,  what  do  you  do  with  your  money?  I  am 
curious  to  know." 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  Stephen  answered  when  he  had 
got  his  breath. 

"You  have  some  money,  haven't  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Stephen,  wondering  who  had 
told  his  questioner. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  do  with  it.  Haven't  you 
everything  you  want,  without  needing  to  buy  it?" 

"  0  certainly,  sir !  I  do  not  want  anything.  I 
have  everything.  More  than  everything." 

"What  can  be  more  than  everything?"  said  Mr: 
Hardenbrook  grimly.  "Then  what  do  you  want 
money  for,  Stephen?  that's  what  puzzles  me. 
What  do  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"Nothing,  sir.     I  do  nothing  with  it  at  all." 

"  How  did  you  get  it,  to  begin  with  ?  " 


274  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Different  ways — "  said  Stephen,  colouring  now 
a  little. 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  tell  me?  " 

"No,  sir; — you  have  a  right  to  know." 

"  Perhaps  I  have.  If  you  think  so,  I  should  like 
very  much  to  hear  what  you  can  tell  me." 

"  I  get  it  different  ways,"  Stephen  repeated,  with 
obviously  a  little  embarrassment.  "Some  of  the 
men  pay  me  for  teaching  them  accounts — arithme 
tic,  I  mean." 

"  Do  they  !     How  much  do  you  charge  ?  " 

"They  give  me  fifty  cents  a  month,  sir." 

"  And  you  teach  them  arithmetic  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  It  began  by  one  of  the  boys  asking 
me  to  give  him  lessons  in  writing;  he  was  ashamed 
to  go  to  the  night  school,  because  he  was  so  old." 

"  Who  was  that  ?  do  you  mind  telling  ?  " 

"  It's  nothing  to  his  discredit,  and  he  writes  a 
pretty  fair  hand  now.  It  was  two  or  three  years 
ago.  That  was  Wilkins." 

"  When  were  the  lessons  given  ?  " 

"  At  night  sir." 

"  In  the  factory  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  let  you  go  there  with  a  light, 
if  I  had  known  it,"  Mr.  Hardenbrook  said,  smiling. 

"  Wouldn't  you,  sir  ?"  Stephen  started.  "Then 
we  had  better  find  another  place  now.  We  are 
there  every  evening." 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  forbid  it.  You  have  done  it  so 
long,  and  we  have  had  no  conflagration.  I'll  risk 


SCHOOL  DAYS  OVER.  275 

it.     Go  ahead,  my  boy.     You  teach  them  arithme 
tic  now  ?  " 

"Yes  sir;  and  writing  too,  and  book-keeping." 
"  Book-keeping  ?     Can  you  teach  them  that  ?  " 
"Yes  sir.     I  learnt  it  in  the  school." 
"•You  made  good  use  of  your  time.     Well,  go  on. 
What  else?" 

"  Well,  sir,"— Stephen  hesitated,—"  sometimes  I 
make  things.     I  get  bits  out  of  the  waste  heap,  bits 
of  stuff  and  veneering,  and  manage  to  make  some 
little  things.     I  do  it  while  I  am  giving  the  lessons 
at  night,  and  at  odd  times.     Sometimes,  if  I  want  a 
larger  bit,  I  shew  it  to  Mr.  Gordon  and  pay  him 
whatever  he  says  it  is  worth." 
"  What  does  he  charge  you  ?  " 
"  Not  much,  sir,  but  whatever  it  is  worth." 
"  And  you  make  it  worth  more,  I  suppose  ?  " 
"  Yes  sir.     That  is  the  use  of  manufacturing." 
"  One  use." 

"Yes  sir.     It  began,   all  this,  from  the  sled  I 
made  for  Posie  that  first  year.     Somebody  saw  it 
at  school  and  asked  me  to  make  him  another;  and 
so   I  got  the  idea.     I  made  one  with  a  veneered 
top,  made  out  of  scraps  that  were  thrown  away; 
and  it  was  very  handsome,  Mr.  Hardenbrook." 
"  Why  didn't  you  shew  it  to  us  ?  " 
"I  did  not  want" — Stephen  hesitated  again, — 
'  I  did  not  want  to  have  anybody  know  anything 
about  it" 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

Stephen  did  not  immediately  answer. 


270  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  knew  you  could  not  understand,  sir,  what  I 
could  want  of  money." 

"Well,  I  couldn't,  and  I  don't.  Do  you  want 
money  for  anything  in  particular,  Stephen  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  what  do  you  want?  1  thought  you  had 
everything  you  wanted  already,"  said  Mr.  Harden- 
brook  again. 

"0  yes,  sir,  so  I  have.  Everything  I  want  for 
myself." 

"Then  this  is  not  for  yourself? " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Not  for  yourself!     For  whom  then  ?  " 

Stephen  flushed,  his  eyes  fell ;  and  his  voice  was 
lowered,  as  he  answered, 

"  For  my  mother." 

"  For  Jier/  My  dear  boy,  won't  you  explain  what 
you  mean  ?  " 

^  Yes  sir;  you  have  a  right  to  ask,  but  I  don't 
want  to  tell  anybody  beside.  It's  no  harm," — Ste 
phen  went  on  with  a  little  difficulty, — "  and  it's  no 
shame;  but  it  would  be,  if  I  didn't  make  it  right 
when  I  can.  It's  a  debt,  sir." 

"A  debt!" 

"  Yes  sir.  We  could  not  help  it.  After  my  fa 
ther  died,  my  mother  was  not  able  to  earn  enough 
to  live  upon.  She  did  all  she  could,  and  she  saved 
all  she  could;  but  it  was  impossible.  We  lived  on 
very  little,  but  it  was  more  than  she  could  earn 
money  to  pay  for ;  and  I  was  only  a  little  chap  then. 
I  could  do  nothing." 


SCHOOL  DAYS  OVER.  277 

"  And  so  she  left  debts?     How  much ? " 

"One  debt,  sir;  no  more;  that  was  to  the  shop 
where  we  got  corn  meal,  and  a  little  tea  for  mo 
ther.  She  had  to  have  a  little  tea,  it  was  so  hard 
for  her  to  eat  anything,  those  last  years." 

"  Yes.     And  what  was  the  amount  of  that  debt  ?  " 

"Thirty  dollars,  sir." 

"Thirty.  Humph!  How  much  of  it  have  you 
made  up  ?  " 

"  Almost  all,  sir,"  said  Stephen  with  a  smile  now 
that  was  exceedingly  bright,  but  which  somehow 
brought  a  kind  of  stricture  into  Mr.  Hardenbrook's 
throat.  "  I  have  nearly  made  it  up.  I  have  twenty- 
five  dollars  and  seventy  cents.  I  shall  have  the 
rest  soon,  I  hope ;  and  then,  I  thought,  sir,  I  would 
ask  you  to  be  so  good  as  to  give  me  a  day,  and  let 
me  go  over  to  Whitebrook  and  pay  it." 

"  Humph !  yes,  certainly,"  murmured  Mr.  Har- 
denbrook.  He  longed  to  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
and  produce  at  once  the  lacking  four  dollars  and 
thirty  cents;  but  Mr.  Hardenbrook  had  more  wis 
dom  than  is  often  found  in  men  of  his  benevolence, 
and  he  refrained  himself  forcibly.  "  Certainly ! "  he 
repeated.  "Let  me  know  when  you  are  ready,  and 
I  will  let  you  take  my^buggy  and  drive  over." 

"  0  thank  you,  sir !  " 

"And  I  only  hope,  if  ever  my  affairs  should  be 
found  in  unavoidable  disorder,  that  there  may  be 
some  one  to  look  out  for  my  honour  as  you  are  do 
ing  after  your  mother's." 

"  Posie  would,  sir,"  said  Stephen  with  a  smile. 


278  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Posie  don't  know  anything  about  business,  bless 
her!  Not  but  women  ought  to,  in  my  opinion,  but 
they  don't.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  don't  understand 
the  first  thing  about  business.  She  thinks  paying 
interest  on  a  loan  is  very  unfair;  and  she  stopped 
her  ears  once  when  I  was  trying  to  explain  to  her 
about  discounting  a  note.  She  declared  it  was  pure 
absurdity,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughing. 

Stephen  knew  something  of  the  impracticable 
nature  of  Mrs.  Harden  brook's  mind,  and  smiled 
without  making  any  reply. 

From  this  time,  for  a  year  or  two  more,  or  two 
or  three  years,  there  was  no  break  in  the  quiet 
regularity  with  which  winter  and  summer,  school 
time  and  vacation,  brought  their  alternation  of  work 
and  pleasure.  Stephen  was  growing  strong  and  ca 
pable,  almost  under  the  eyes  of  his  friends,  as  the 
months  went  by;  and  Posie,  every  time  she  came 
home,  seemed  a  more  and  more  delightful  creature. 
She  was  growing  too=,  in  her  way,  which  seemed  to 
those  who  loved  her  a  way  full  of  enchanting  charm. 
Not  very  tall;  with  the  prettiest  rounded  figure  in 
the  world,  and  the  most  sunnily  bright;  the  face 
which  as  a  child's  had  always  been  so  engaging, 
was  now  a  thousand  times  more  engaging,  full  of 
winning  witcheries  and  artless  graces,  and  loving 
delights.  A  fair,  blooming  face,  yet  not  one  of  ro 
bust  red  and  white;  rather  with  delicate  colour  and 
varying  hues,  and  eyes  of  tender  sparkle  and  light. 
Posie  had  grown  good  as  she  had  grown  older;  had 
lost  the  something  of  selfishness  and  petulance 


SCHOOL  DAYS  OVER.  279 

which  once  distinguished  her,  and  become  most 
gentle  and  loving;  as  full  of  sparkles  and  changing 
lights  as  a  dew-covered  garden,  and  also  as  sweet. 
She  was  the  very  heart's  content  of  father  and  mo 
ther;  to  Stephen  she  was  as  nearly  as  possible  an 
object  of  adoration.  As  she  came  home  time  after 
time,  and  the  change  was  every  time  noted,  which 
months  and  days  and  cultivation  and  experience 
and  maturing  nature  were  making  in  the  girl,  Ste 
phen  in  his  heart  almost  fell  down  and  worshipped 
her.  I  do  not  mean  by  that  that  she  ever  took  the 
place  with  him  which  we  are  forbidden  to  give  to 
anything  earthly;  the  place  of  supreme  first  alle 
giance  and  affection;  but  under  that,  Posie  took  all 
that  Stephen  had  to  give.  Neither  did  he  make 
any  show  or  parade  whatever  of  his  feeling;  it  was 
as  quiet  as  it  was  deep;  only  Posie  knew  that  Ste 
phen  was  wholly  devoted  to  her;  as  much  as  a 
brother  could  be;  perhaps  more;  but  she  had  never 
had  a  brother  and  could  not  measure  that.  She  had 
no  notion  as  yet  of  any  other  love  than  that  of  fa 
ther  and  mother  and  brother,  and  gave  back  the 
fulness  of  a  very  warm  heart  to  them  all. 

Nor  did  Stephen's  feeling,  whatever  it  was,  take 
on  any  form  or  shew  itself  in  any  demonstrations 
which  might  open  the  older  and  wiser  eyes  in  the 
family.  Stephen  was  not  demonstrative,  generally ; 
his  thoughts  were  more  apt  to  embody  themselves 
in  acts  than  in  words  or  looks;  and  his  thoughts 
about  Posie  followed  the  common  law  of  his  nature. 
Everything  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  do  for 


280  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

her,  he  did ;  yet  with  so  little  parade  of  his  agency 
that  it  came  all  to  Posie  naturally,  like  the  air  and 
the  sunlight;  which  she  lived  in,  and  lived  by, 
without  thinking  of  their  beneficent  working.  The 
two  elder  persons  in  the  family  were  not  quite  so 
thoughtless;  experience  taught  them  what  might 
happen;  and  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  sometimes  arched 
her  eyebrows  and  asked  her  husband  what  he  ex 
pected  to  do  with  Stephen?  and  Mr.  Hardenbrook 
would  answer,  "  All  the  boy  wants  me  to  do." 

u  You  couldn't  say  more  if  he  was  your  own  son," 
returned  the  lady. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook;  "nor  do  more." 
And  in  truth,  it  was  the  place  of  a  son  that 
Stephen  came  to  occupy,  as  the  years  went  on.  He 
was  grown  a  noble  fine  fellow.  Of  middle  height, 
well  knit  and  powerful  in  frame,  with  that  open, 
honest,  intelligent,  steadfast  face  of  his,  you  might 
travel  many  a  summer's  day  and  not  see  a  finer 
young  man  than  Stephen  Kay.  By  little  and  little 
he  had  come  to  be  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  right  hand. 
Not  officially;  Mr.  Gordon  still  held  his  post  of 
foreman  and  director  in  the  factory;  but  it  was 
recognized  there  and  everywhere  that  Stephen  was 
Mr.  Hardenbrook's  representative,  as  much  as  if  he 
had  borne  his  name  and  called  him  father.  He  was 
Mr.  Hardenbrook's  trusted  agent  and  manager  in 
outside  business,  and  his  overlooker  at  home;  re 
paying  his  benefactor  already  for  all  the  care  and 
expense  bestowed  on  him;  but  in  the  giving  and 
taking  of  affection,  neither  of  them  thought  of 


SCHOOL  DAYS  OVER.  281 

debts  or  of  payments.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  too  was 
thoroughly  won  over  to  like  him  and  to  depend  on 
him ;  he  was  as  indispensable  to  her  as  to  anybody; 
only  in  another  way,  which  was  not  precisely  the 
way  of  affection. 

So  things  were,  when  Posie  came  back  from 
school  to  stay,  in  the  summer  when  she  was  seven 
teen  years  old.  Probably  she  might  with  advan 
tage  have  given  another  year  or  two  more  to  her 
education ;  but  Mr.  Hardenbrook  declared  he  could 
not  any  longer  do  without  her,  and  Mrs.  Harden- 
brook's  pride  and  ambition  were  satisfied  with  what 
had  been  already  done  and  gained;  and  she  made 
no  opposition  to  the  wish  of  father  and  daughter, 
that  now  Posie  should  stay  at  home.  For  Posie 
was  as  lovely  a  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  young 
maiden,  as  mother's  heart  could  wish  to  see;  wise 
too,  out  of  sight  of  all  her  mother's  wisdom,  at 
least  so  far  as  wisdom  can  be  got  from  books;  arid 
accomplished  so  highly  that  no  competition  in  all 
the  countryside  could  be  feared  for  her.  That  was 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  thought;  nobody  else  had  any 
idea  of  competition ;  her  father,  and  Stephen,  rested 
their  hearts  on  her  with  a  delight  which  knew  only 
the  positive  and  the  superlative  degrees,  and  had 
no  place  for  the  comparative.  And  Posie  herself 
was  much  too  simple  and  sweet  to  think  of  it. 

So  she  came  home,  at  seventeen.  It  was  mid 
summer,  and  the  glory  and  fulness  of  the  natural 
world  were  but  a  fit  concomitant  and  setting  for 
the  abundance  of  joy  and  wealth  of  affection  which 


282  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

received  her.  Posie  entered  into  it  quite  naturally ; 
it  was  the  native  element  of  her  life,  and  she  felt 
herself  at  home.  And  she  gave  them  all  back 
such  returns  of  love  and  tenderness  and  happy 
sympathy  and  glad  spirits,  that  they  all  felt  as  if 
the  house  were  suddenly  visited  with  a  shower  of 
light. 

"How  did  we  ever  live  so  long  without  her!" 
said  Mr.  Hardenbrook  to  his  wife. 

"And  now,  I  suppose,"  said  that  lady,  with  the 
well  known  inflation  of  her  small  nostrils  which 
had  such  a  peculiar  effect,  "now  you  think,  Mr. 
Hardenbrook,  you  can  keep  her  always! " 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  mutely. 

"  Don't  you  expect  Posie  will  be  married  some 
day?" 

"  I  needn't  expect  it  at  present,  I  suppose." 

"How  long  do  you  think- you  will  keep  her?" 
the  lady  went  on  severely. 

"  Posie  is  only  seventeen." 

"  Yes,  and  how  many  years  will  it  take  to  make 
her  eighteen, — and  nineteen, — and  twenty?" 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  made  no  answer  whatever; 
rocked  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  his 
wife  in  silence.  When  he  did  speak  it  was  of  some 
thing  very  irrelevant. 

"  I  wonder  how  old  Stephen  is  ?  " 

"  I  am  .never  going  to  ask  how  old  he  is,  Mr. 
Hardenbrook !  "  said  the  lady. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
VIEWS. 

'QTEPHEN,"  said  Posie  at  dinner  one  day,  two 

O     or  three  days  after  her  home-coming, — "pa 

and  ma  are  going  off  to  Deepford  this  afternoon ; 

can't  you  get  out  of  the  factory  and  come  and  sit 

with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  do,"  said  Mr.  Plardenbrook,  "  for  we  shall 
not  be  home  till  late,  I  know.  My  wife  won't  get 
through  what  she  has  to  do,  till  the  moon's  up ;  and 
I  must  see  a  man  on  business,  that  I  can't  see  till 
he's  out  of  his  workshop;  so  you  come  in,  Stephen, 
and  take  care  of  Posie." 

Accordingly,  somewhat  late  in  the  afternoon, 
Stephen  made  his  appearance  in  the  parlour.  It 
was  a  pleasant  room  enough,  opening  on  a  garden; 
and  windows  were  open,  and  door,  and  the  gay 
colours  of  the  flowers  were  discernible  outside,  and 
sweet  odours  came  wafted  in  along  with  the  sum 
mer  air.  And  Posie  sat  there,  in  a  bright  light 
muslin  dress  and  a  rose  in  her  bosom ;  as  fair  and 
gay  and  sweet  as  the  garden,  or  the  summer  itself. 

She  jumped  up  to  welcome  Stephen.     The  whole 

283) 


284  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

aspect  of  things,  to  him,  was  as  if  a  hundred  thou 
sand  roses  had  bloomed  in  his  face  at  once. 

"  How  nice ! "  said  Posie.  "Now  here  you  are,  in 
good  time.  And  we  have  so  many  things  to  talk 
about;  and  I  have  something  to  shew  you,  Stephen. 
Something  I  want  to  shew  you  first,  because  every 
body  cannot  see  things  at  once.  Sit  down  there, 
Stephen, — here, — What,  are  you  going  to  sit  on 
the  threshold?" 

"  It's  as  good  a  place  as  any,"  Stephen  said  quietly, 
taking  his  position  in  the  doorway  at  her  feet.  He 
did  not  tell  Posie  that  from  that  place  he  could 
best  look  up  into  her  face  and  take  the  effect  of  her 
appearance  generally.  He  sat  down  with  a  satisfied 
smile,, 

"  How  nice  it  is  to  be  at  home,  though !  And  to 
think  that  I  am  going  to  stay.  I  cannot  realize  it 
yet.  It  seems  to  me  still  that  I  am  going  back  to 
Miss  Pierson's  in  a  few  weeks;  only  I  know  I  am 
not." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  not." 

"Yes,  so  am  I.  But  school  wasn't  bad  either. 
0  Stephen,  we  have  got  a  great  deal  to  talk  about." 

"  Have  we  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have.  I  am  just  glad  pa  and  ma  are 
gone  off  to-day,  and  we  have  got  this  nice  time 
alone.  Do  you  know,  that  is  one  of  the  things 
Miss  Pierson  says  I  must  not  do, — say  'pa'  and 
'ma'?" 

u  What  must  you  say  ?  " 

"  *  Mamma,'  and  '  papa.' " 


VIEWS. 


285 


"What's  the  difference?" 

"  Well,  she  says,  just  all  the  difference  between 
proper  and  improper.  0  Stephen,  things  are  very 
queer.  And  do  you  know,  the  world  is  a  very  big 
place  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  do,"  said  Stephen  smiling.  "  Have 
you  just  found  it  out  ?  " 

"  Yes !  I  never  did  find  it  out  really  till  this  year. 
I  used  to  think,  you  know,  that  Cowslip  and  Deep- 
ford  were  about  all  the  world,  and  that  Boston  lay 
at  the  extreme  edge  of  everything.  I  really  did. 
1  hardly  knew  there  was  anything  more." 

"  Why  you  studied  geography  in  school  at  Cow 
slip,  long  before  ^you  ever  went  to  Miss  Pierson ; 
and  drew  maps  of  all  the  parts  of  the  world." 

"  Yes.  Of  course  I  knew  it.  But  do  you  know, 
Stephen,  one  can  know  things  without  knowing 
them  ?  " 

"  What  has  made  the  difference  this  year?  " 

"  Growing  older,  I  suppose,"  said  Posie,  with  a 
moment's  shadow  of  seniority  crossing  her  brow. 
"And  then,  talk;  and  other  things.  One  of  the 
girls  had  a  sister  married  and  gone  to  Europe;  and 
she  used  to  be  getting  letters  from  her,  long  de 
lightful  letters,  and  pictures;  arid  I  seemed  to  wake 
up  somehow;  and  now  Cowslip  seems  to  me  a  spot 
about  as  big  as  you  can  make  with  the  nib  of  a  pen 
on  a  sheet  of  paper." 

"  What  are  the  people  that  live  in  it?"  said  Ste 
phen  laughing. 

u  People  and  all  go  into  that  dot,'*  said  Posie 


286  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"and  that's  where  you  are,  Stephen.  Now  I  am 
going  to  open  your  eyes  and  make  you  see  things. 
You  know  how  they  take  pictures  of  people  by  sun 
light, — daguerreotypes  ?  Well,  now  they  have  got 
to  taking  pictures  of  other  things — landscapes,  and 
mountains,  and  everything,  and  not  on  metal  plates 
but  on  paper,  so  that  one  can  carry  them  about 
nicely  and  they  don't  take  up  any  room.  Lottie 
Saunders,  that  girl  I  spoke  of,  had  quantities  sent 
her  by  her  sister;  and  I  found  out  how  I  could  get 
some,  and  I  got  some;  and  now  I  am  going  to  shew 
you,  Stephen,  and  make  you  open  your  eyes.  Look 
at  that ; — what  do  you  think  that  is  ?  " 

She  handed  Stephen  an  odd-looking  instrument 
as  she  spoke,  and  Stephen  turned  it  about  a  few 
moments  in  silence. 

"I  cannot  imagine,"  he  said  at  length.  "These 
are  magnifying  glasses;  but  I  can  see  nothing." 

"  There  is  nothing  there  to  see ! "  cried  Posie. 
"Now  wait, — give  it  to  me,  and  I  will  put  some 
thing  in  for  you  to  look  at,  and  you  will  not  say 
there  is  nothing  again.  There ! — now  get  the 
light  right  from  that  reflector — " 

Stephen  uttered  a  low  exclamation,  at  which  Posie 
clapped  her  hands  exultantly ;  then  he  took  the  glass 
from  his  eye  to  look  at  the  outside  of  the  instru 
ment  again;  after  which  he  applied  his  eye  to  it 
in  a  proper  manner  and  was  motionless. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  looking  into  a  new 
strange  world,  not  at  any  picture.  It  is  true,  it 
was  a  world  without  colour;  and  yet  he  hardly 


VIEWS.  287 

missed  the  colour ;  the  perfection  of  form  and  relief 
of  every  object  so  thoroughly  suggested  the  other 
qualities  not  given.  Of  course  the  sky  was  blue  and 
the  foliage  green;  he  never  so  much  as  thought  of 
that ;  he  was  so  engrossed  with  the  visible  features  of 
this  new  world.  He  saw  steep  mountain  slopes  which 
on  one  side  and  on  the  other  shut  in  a  very  narrow 
valley;  the  slopes  were  fringed  with  pine  and  fir 
and  sometimes  broken  by  precipitous  walls  of  rock. 
In  the  bottom  lay  nestling  a  small  group  of  houses. 
The  valley,  or  gorge,  stretched  away  from  the  eye 
for  some  distance.  Beyond  it,  filling  all  the  space 
of  its  open  chasm  to  the  eye,  yet  evidently  far 
beyond  it,  rose  a  great  mountain,  one  of  those 
that  are  queens  among  mountains.  The  view  was 
framed  in  by  the  shelving  sides  of  the  gorge,  and 
the  centre  of  the  picture  was  this  mountain.  It 
lifted  its  head  to  the  sky ;  what  to  right  and  left 
the  sides  of  the  mountain  might  be,  Stephen  could 
not  see ;  only  this  mighty  towering  central  peak,  the 
sight  of  which  almost  took  away  his  breath.  It 
would  have  been  a  great  mountain,  if  it  had  reared 
itself  up  so  at  the  end  of  the  gorge;  but  by  the 
tenderness  of  the  lights  and  shadows  Stephen  per 
ceived  that  it  stood  a  great  distance  off.  And  yet 
lifted  its  head  so  grandly ! 

For  some  little  time  there  was  silence;  Stephen 
under  a  spell,  and  Posie  watching  him  in  delight 
that  would  not  break  it.  At  last  Stephen  found 
words,  without  taking  his  eye  from  the  glass. 
"What  is.  it?''  he  said. 


288  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  You  don't  know  where  you  are  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit. * 

"You  are  in  the  Alps,  in  Switzerland." 

"  Is  Switzerland  like  that! "  said  Stephen  slowly. 

"How  do  you  like  it?" 

"  I  did  not  know  that  God  had  made  the  world 
so  beautiful ! " 

"  Ah,  now  you  begin  to  see  that  what  I  said  was 
true.  That's  the  Jungfrau." 

"What?" 

"  Why,  the  mountain,"  said  Posie  laughing. 
"That  mountain  you  see  in  the  picture." 

"Picture?  I  don't  seem  to  be  looking  at  a  pict 
ure;  I  am  looking  at  the  mountain  itself!  " 

"  It's  only  a  picture,  though,  and  it  travelled  in 
my  trunk  from  Boston.  That's  the  glass." 

"What  sort  of  a  glass  is  it?  and  what  makes  it  have 
this  effect  ?  I  never  saw  anything  like  it  before." 

"Of  course  you  didn't.  It's  a  new  thing;  it's  a 
new  invention ;  it's  a  ste — something,  I  always  for 
get  what;  I  never  think  of  anything  but  stiletto, 
and  it  isn't  that." 

"  But  what  gives  it  this  effect  ?  " 

"The  magnifying  glasses." 

"  I  have  looked  through  magnifying  glasses  be 
fore,  and  it  was  never  in  the  least  like  this." 

"0  well,  I  don't  know;  that's  the  new  invention, 
I  told  you.  Never  mind;  now  let  me  shew  you 
another — " 

"Wait,  wait,"  said  Stephen.  "What  place  is 
this?" 


VIEWS.  289 

"0  that's  Interlaken.  It's  a  little  place  in  the 
mountains." 

"  I  can  see  that  for  myself,"  said  Stephen  smiling. 

"  Well,  people  go  there  to  see  the  mountains;  and 
that  is  the  valley  of  Lauterbrunnen.  Lottie's  sister 
was  there  and  wrote  all  about  it;  see,  that's  the 
hotel  she  staid  at." 

"  How  high  is  that  mountain,  Posie  ?  " 

"How  high?  0  I  don't  know.  Thousands  and 
thousands  of  feet.  Ever  so  high.  And  all  round 
there  are  others — heaps  of  mountains,  as  high  and 
higher;  but  the  Jungfrau  is  very  famous.  And 
down  in  the  valley  of  Lauterbrunnen  there  is  a  water 
fall,  of  a  little  brook,  you  know,  which  is  so  high 
that  it  never  gets  to  the  bottom." 

Here  Stephen  took  his  eye  from  the  stereoscope 
and  began  to  laugh. 

"  0  well,  it  doesn't.  It's  a  thousand  feet  high, 
I  believe,  or  something  like  that;  and  before  it 
gets  to  the  bottom  it  all  flies  apart  in  mist.  I  said 
the  truth.  And  all  the  places  one  goes  to  see  are 
more  beautiful  than  it  is  possible  to  tell.  Lottie's 
sister  wrote  about  them." 

•  "  This  is  very  beautiful,"  said  Stephen,  applying 
his  eye  to  the  instrument  again. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  it  first.  They  cost  a  good 
deal,  these  views  do ;  but  pa  gave  me  money  enough, 
and  I  thought  I  would  not  like  anything  better  than 
to  astonish  you.  Besides,  I  wanted  you  to  know 
what  a  big  place  the  world  is,  and  what  a  little 
place  vae  live  in." 


290  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"What's  the  good  of  that?"  Stephen  asked,  laugh- 
ing  again. 

"  Well,  I  have  come  to  know  it's  a  little  place,  and 
I  want  you  to  know  it  too.  0  Stephen,  wouldn't 
you  like  to  travel  and  go  to  Switzerland?  to  see 
that  mountain  and  all  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  will,  one  day,"  said  Stephen  a  little 
soberly. 

"  No,  I  shall  not.  Pa  never  will  go  out  of  Amer 
ica,  I  know.  He  will  just  stay  here,  where  he  has 
staid  all  his  life." 

"There  are  some  things  to  see,  I  suppose,  in 
America." 

"Not  like  that." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Niagara  ?  " 

"  0  but  that's  water." 

"  I  suppose,  water  may  be  as  wonderful  as  land," 
Stephen  suggested,  again  with  a  laugh.  "Mr. 
Hardenbrook  said  one  day,  that  maybe  we  would 
all  make  a  party  and  go  to  see  Niagara  next 
year." 

"Yes,  but  that  wouldn't  be  like  going  to  Switzer 
land,"  said  Posie.  "And  he  won't  go,  besides.  0 
Stephen,  I  would  like  to  travel  and  see  a  great 
many  things.  Stephen,  wouldn't  you?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it." 

"But  now  you  do  think  of  it, — now  you  are 
looking  at  Switzerland, — wouldn't  you  like  to  go 
there  ?  And  to  other  places  ?  " 

"Very  much;  if  I  could  go  without  leaving  my 
work." 


VIEWS.  291 

"Your  work?  You  always  think  about  work! 
Your  work  in  the  factory,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,  whatever  I  have  to  do.  The  factory 
is  not  all." 

"  What  else  have  you,  Stephen  ? "  said  Posie, 
hanging  coaxingly  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Some  things  for  your  father,  and  some  things 
for  other  people." 

"Other  people?  What  other  people?  I  didn't 
know  you  had  anything  to  do  for  anybody  else. 
What  things  have  you  to  do  for  other  people, 
Stephen  ?  " 

He  hesitated. 

"  I  have  a  class  to  teach,  in  the  jail  at  Deepford." 

"A  class?  In  the  jail?  o'stepheii!  What 
sort  of  a  class?" 

"  Some  of  the  prisoners." 

"The  prisoners!  But  what  in  the  world  can 
you  teach  the  prisoners  ?  In  the  jail !  What  in* 
the  world  do  you  want  to  teach  the  prisoners, 
Stephen?" 

"I  want  to  tell  them  what  Christ  can  do  for 
them." 

"  0  is  it  a  Bible  class  ?  0  Stephen,  can  }^ou  find 
nobody  else  in  all  the  land  to  teach,  but  you  must 
go  to  the  jail  for  it  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  anybody  else  in  the  land  needs 
it  more  ?  " 

"  0  but  the  jail !  What  did  ever  put  that  in 
your  head  ?  Isn't  it  horrid  ?  " 

«  No." 


292  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  What  put  it  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  Posie,  I  was  trying  to  think  who  was  in  the 
most  need ;  and  then  the  people  in  the  jail  occurred 
to  me." 

"Just  like  you !  But,  Stephen,  that  is  too  absurd. 
There's  enough  to  do  that  isn't  so  disagreeable." 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ? "  Stephen 
asked  quietly.  He  had  put  down  the  stereoscope, 
and  was  attending  to  Posie  and  her  questions. 

"But  those  are  the  worst  people  in  all  the 
land." 

"  Not  always.     If  they  were,  what  then  V  " 

"  They  must  be.  Why  they've  been  put  in  prison 
for  their  misdeeds ;  and  it  isn't  a  sort  of  place  for 
decent  people  to  go." 

"  What  do  you  think  the  Lord  meant  then,  in 
that  chapter  about  the  sheep  and  the  goats,  when 
he  said,  'I  was  in  prison,  and  ye  came  unto  me'?" 

"0,  but  Stephen!  Do  you  think  that  means  that 
we  should  go  and  see  the  people  in  all  the  jails,  and 
make  classes  of  them  and  teach  them  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  go  to  all  the  jails,"  Stephen  said  smil 
ing.  "  I  can  only  get  to  Deepford." 

"  And  do  you  think  it  is  everybody's  duty  ?  " 

"  *  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it,  with 
thy  might' — "  Stephen,  answered,  again  smiling,  as 
he  looked  at  Posie. 

"  Well,  my  hand  don't  find  that  to  do,"  she  said. 

"  Then  don't  do  it,"  said  Stephen,  taking  up  the 
stereoscope  again. 

"  But  you  think  I  ought !  " 


VIEWS.  293 

"  It  does  not  matter,  what  I  think." 

"  It  does  to  me  though,"  said  Posie.  "But  I  can 
tell  you,  Stephen,  you  carry  things  pretty  far.  No 
body  is  so  strict  as  you  are." 

"Strict  about  what?" 

"0,  things  in  general.  Sundays;  and  what  you 
call  '  duty '." 

41  Everybody  must  be  strict  about  what  he  calls 
duty." 

"Well,  they  aren't,  I  can  tell  you;  and  you  get 
laughed  at  for  it  if  you  are." 

"By  whom?"  said  Stephen,  putting  down  the 
glass  again. 

"  0  everybody.     Nice  people.     Good  people  too. 

0  yes,  it  is  so  as  I  tell  you.     I  saw  nobody  in  Bos 
ton  like  you.     People  were  good  and  nice,  but  they 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  go  out  on  Sunday  if  it 
rained  hard;  and  they  didn't  think  there  was  any 
harm  in  a  game  of  cards;  and  they  didn't  poke 
into  prisons  to  see  the  prisoners;  and  they  thought 
religion  generally  was  to  make  people  comfortable 
and  not  uncomfortable." 

"What  did  you  think?" 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Stephen!  I  don't 
see  but  they  were  right.  I  think  you  are  too 
strict.  I  do,  really.  You're  the  best  old  Stephen 
in  the  world,  and  I  think  nobody  is  like  you ;  but 

1  do  think  you  are  stricter  than  you  need  be." 
"Am  I  stricter  than   Christ  was?     That  is  the 

only  question." 

"  0  well,  never  mind.     Let  us  go  on  with  the 


294  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

pictures.  I  have  got  ever  so  many  more.  Have 
you  done  with  that  one  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not.  And  Posie,  do  not  run  away 
from  my  question,  but  answer  it." 

u  I  can't  answer  it.  I  don't  know  who  is  right. 
I  like  you  best,  anyhow." 

"  But  you  can  answer  it,  if  you  have  a  mind. 
Take  just  those  words,  'Whatsoever  ye  would  that 
men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them.1 
"Couldn't  that  send  you  to  the  prisoners  in  jail,  if 
you  thought  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  it  to  send  me  to  them." 

"Very  well,  that  is  another  matter;  but  look  at 
the  truth  as  it  is." 

"  Stephen,  it  is  easier  not  tc  look  at  it,  don't  you 
know?" 

"I  always  found  it  was  easier  to  look  at  it.  The 
Bible  says,  'The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard;'  and 
that's  how  it  always  seems  to  me." 

"Now  I  have  vexed  you,"  said  Posie  coaxingly. 
"You  are  vexed  at  me." 

"  I  am  only  troubled  a  little  for  you,  Posie." 

"Don't  be  troubled!  I'll  be  as  strict  as  you  like, 
and  do  anything  you  like,  and  do  nothing  you 
don't  like,  Stephen !  Now  just  don't  you  think 
about  it  any  more,  but  just  go  on  with  Switzer 
land — that's  a  good  boy !  " 

"  Posie,  I  know  the  closer  one  keeps  to  Christ, 
the  happier  one  is,  and  the  easier  things  are." 

"I  know,  and  I'll  do  it.  Now  look  at  Interlaken 
again  and  get  done  with  it.  Why  what  would  be- 


VIEWS. 


295 


come  of  you  if  you  were  in  Switzerland  itself? 
You'd  never  get  on ;  you'd  be  snowed  up  while  you 
were  looking  at  a  view ;  as  bad  as  Lot's  wife." 

Stephen  could  not  help  laughing,  and  with  that, 
the  former  subject  being  disposed  of,  he  gave  him 
self  to  the  pictures.  He  settled  himself  comfort 
ably  with  his  back  against  the  doorpost,  and  went 
off  to  Interlaken. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PKINCIPLES. 

FINDING  that  Lauterbrunnen  and  the  Jungfrau 
held  him  interminably,  Posie  grew  impatient. 
She  fetched  a  footstool  to  Stephen's  side  and  sat 
down  close  to  his  shoulder;  where  if  she  could  not 
just  see  what  he  was  looking  at,  for  the  stereoscope 
was  the  old  box  kind,  at  least  she  could  be  at  hand 
to  change  the  slides  as  fast  as  he  would  let  her.  But 
Stephen  was  in  no  hurry  to  yield  up  the  Jungfrau; 
and  as  he  studied  that,  Posie  fell  to  studying  him. 
Just  as  she  had  known  him  for  a  long  time,  so  he 
was  as  he  sat  there  now,  not  changed,  except  that 
Posie  thought  he  was  improved.  Always  as  neat 
as  a  pin,  Posie  noted  how  spotless  his  collar  and 
cuffs  were,  how  fresh  and  clear  the  tints  of  the 
skin,  how  bright  and  well  cared  for  was  the  close 
curly  hair;  and  she  noted  too  with  pride  the  fine 
manly  figure  and  all  of  his  face  that  she  could  see, 
every  line  of  which  she  thought  as  good  as  lines 
could  be.  There  was  plenty  of  sense  and  strength 
and  quiet  power  in  it,  much  more  indeed  than  Posie 
could  read ;  but  like  children  with  books,  she  felt  what 
(296) 


PRINCIPLES.  297 

as  yet  she  had  not  the  skill  to  understand.  Posie 
studied  him  at  her  leisure,  and  then  growing  more 
impatient,  pinched  his  ear.  Stephen  looked  round 
and  laughed,  but  was  not  yet  diverted  from  his 
study  of  Switzerland. 

"  Is  that  snow,  up  on  the  mountain  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  When  you  get  two  or  three 
miles  up  in  the  air,  you  have  snow,  naturally." 

"  All  the  year  round !  And  that  head  of  snow 
looking  down  on  the  green  valleys  of  summer — 
how  beautiful ! " 

"Must  look  cool,  mustn't  it?  Stephen,  you  al 
ways  look  cool ! " 

Stephen  broke  into  a  laugh.  "Thank  you  for 
the  comparison,"  he  said.  "Am  I  like  that  to 
you?" 

"You  are  not  in  the  least  like  that.  I  don't  fancy 
snow  mountains.  But  you  look  as  strong  as  a 
mountain,"  said  Posie,  resting  her  hand  affection 
ately  on  his  shoulder.  "  Stephen,  I  was  just  think 
ing  how  much  nicer  you  are  than  the  fashionable 
young  men  in  Boston." 

"What  do  you  know  of  fashionable  young  men?" 

"  0  well,  not  much ;  but  I  couldn't  help  seeing 
them,  you  know." 

"  Couldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  of  course  not.  They  came  to  the 
house ;  how  could  I  help  seeing  them  ?  There  was 
Lizzie  Satterthwaite's  brother,  and  Julia  Boynton's 
cousin;  and  others,  that  came  with  them." 

"To  see  you?" 


298  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"To  see  all  of  us.  No,  not  to  see  me  in  particu 
lar;  but  I  saw  them  with  the  rest." 

"I  do  not  just  know  what  you  mean  by  a  'fash 
ionable'  young  man,"  Stephen  said  slowly.  "Do 
you  mean,  a  man  that  it  is  the  fashion  to  know  ?  " 

'*  No,  not  at  all.  How  could  it  be  the  fashion  to 
know  a  man  ?  I  don't  mean  that." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"01  don't  know.     They  are  called  fashionable/' 

"  Why  ?     What  does  it  amount  to  ?  " 

"0  Stephen,  don't  you  know,  without  telling? 
They  are  well  dressed,  and  clever,  and  nice;  they 
know  always  what  is  the  thing  to  do,  and  what  is 
the  right  thing  to  say;  they  can  tell  about  every 
thing  that  is  going  on,  so  they  are  nice  to  talk  to; 
and  never  a  bit  awkward." 

"Is  a  man  any  the  better  for  being  fashionable?" 
asked  Stephen,  looking  hard  at  Interlaken. 

«  Why— yes,"  said  Posie;  "that's  all  good;  but  I 
said,  you  are  nicer  then  they  are,  a  great  deal." 

"I  suppose  you  think,  if  I  were  fashionable  it 
Would  be  an  improvement?" 

"  Well,"  said  Posie  hesitating,  "  I  can  tell  you,  a 
Boston  or  New  York  tailor  makes  a  coat  better 
than  a  Deepford  man  can." 

"  Did  you  see  much  of  these  people  with  good 
coats  ?  "  asked  Stephen  smiling. 

"Ye-s,  a  good  deal.  Quite  a  good  deal.  You 
see,  there  were  evenings  when  Miss  Pierson  al 
lowed  the  girls  to  receive  their  friends;  and  some 
times  quite  a  good  many  would  come;  and  then 


PRINCIPLES.  299 

we  were  all  together;  and  there  was  talking  and 
music,  and  dancing  sometimes." 

"  Dancing !  "  Stephen  looked  round. 

"  Yes.  0  you  needn't  look !  "  cried  Posie  laugh 
ing.*  "  I  didn't  dance,  because  I  knew  you  didn't 
like  it;  everybody  else  did.  But  really,  Stephen, 
I  don't  see  why  it  should  be  wrong, — it's  so  pretty, 
and  I  am  sure  it  is  such  good  fun." 

"  That  don't  prove  anything,  does  it  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  why  should  it  be  wrong?  Nobody  else 
thinks  about  it  as  you  do,  Stephen;  they  all  laughed 
at  me.  Why  is  it  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Stephen,  putting  down  his 
stereoscope ;  "  only,  I  never  could  see  how  I  could 
do  it  to  the  glory  of  God." 

"  Stephen  1  To  the  glory  of  God !  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"You  know  that's  the  rule,  Posie.  'Whether 
ye  eat,  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the 
glory  of  God.1" 

"But  how  can  you  do  a  great  many. things  so? 
Eating  and  drinking,  for  example?  You  cannot." 

"  Not  if  the  Bible  says  so  ?  " 

"  0  it  cannot  mean  just  that." 

"Then  it  would  not  say  just  that^I  think.  Why 
Posie,  when  Mr.  Hardenbrook  gives  me  an  order, 
I  always  know  it  is  to  be  carried  out  in  every  par 
ticular,  just  as  he  gives  it.  I  never  dare  alter  it 
the  least  bit.  And  I  think  the  Lord  would  give  his 
orders  as  clearly,  and  expect  to  have  them  followed 
as  carefully.  Don't  you  ?  " 


300  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  What  a  speech,  for  Stephen  the  Silent !  "  cried 
Posie  merrily. 

"I  suppose  you  may  say,  I  don't  know  much 
about  it,"  said  Stephen,  going  back  again  to  the 
Jungfrau.  "And  I  don't,  about  dancing.  About 
the  other,  I  think  I  do." 

"  Dancing  is  pretty,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  I  never  saw  much  beauty  in  it." 

"  O  because  you  never  saw  any  but  country 
dancing.  City  dancing  is  quite  different." 

"Different  how?" 

"01  can't  tell  you !  The  same  sort  of  way  that 
I  told  you  the  men's  coats  are  better.  Easy,  and 
graceful  and  elegant.  To  see  Mr.  Satterthwaite 
and  Lizzie  Colin  an  waltz,  you  would  think  they 
floated,  or  moved  somehow  on  wings,  so  easily 
they  went  round." 

"  Waltz  !  "  cried  Stephen. 

"  Yes.  But  I  did  not  waltz,"  said  Posie  laugh 
ing  at  his  look. 

"  I  should  think  not !     When  1  see  a  girl  waltz 
ing,  I  always  hope  she  is  crazy.     In  fact,  I  know 
she  is.     She  has  lost  her  senses.     Well,  you  may 
give  me  another  now,"  he  went  on,  drawing  out 
the  Jungfrau  from  the  stereoscope. 

Posie  took  the  instrument  to  put  another  pict 
ure  in. 

"  But  Stephen,  don't  you  say  that  just  because 
you  don't  know  the  world  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

u  Then  mayn't  you  be  mistaken  ?  " 


PRINCIPLES.  301 

"  'Whatsoever  ye  do ' — "  Stephen  repeated,  hold 
ing  out  his  hand  for  the  stereoscope,  which  Posio 
still  withheld. 

"  But  you  can't,  Stephen,  not  literally.  Dressing, 
and  eating  and  drinking — and  talking,  for  instance. 
How  can  you  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  study  it  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  thought  so." 

"  But  you  have  studied  it  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  had  to  study  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  am  a  servant,  and  I  must  understand 
my  orders." 

"Tell  me  then,  Stephen!"  said  Posie  coaxingly. 
"  I  want  to  know.  I  do,  really.  I  want  to  know, 
so  that  I  may  do  right  too." 

"  Let  it  be  to  please  God,  and  not  to  please  your 
self.  That's  very  simple." 

"  But  in  such  little  things ! — my  dress ! — I  can't 
eee  how." 

"  Well,"  said  Stephen,  "  you  are  the  Lord's  ser 
vant." 

"Yes." 

"  Look  like  it." 

"  How  ?  "  said  Posie  half  laughing,  but  she  was 
in  earnest  too. 

" It's  no  use  to  tell  you,  for  you  always  do" 

"Suppose  I  was  somebody  else,  then.  Go  on 
and  tell  me,  just  the  same." 

"Suppose   you   were   somebody   else.      Then   I 


302  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

should  say,  Always  be  nice.  The  Lord's  servants 
ought  to  be  pure  outwardly,  as  well  as  inwardly." 

"  Yes.     But  that  is  not  enough  ?  " 

"No.  Then  I  should  say,  Dress  fit  for  your 
work." 

"What  work?" 

"  Whatever  you  have  to  do." 

"  Suppose  I  have  none." 

"  I  cannot  suppose  it.  All  God's  servants  have 
work  to  do  for  him.  Whether  they  are  doing  it  is 
another  matter.  And  they  must  dress  for  their 
work." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"Then,  I  think,"  said  Stephen  slowly,  "they 
ought  to  look  as  well  as  they  can." 

"  Oh !  Dress  as  handsomely,  you  mean !  I  did 
not  expect  you  would  say  that." 

"  I  did  not  say  that." 

"What  then?" 

"Dress  to  look  well.  I  mean,  becomingly,  and 
in  good  taste,  and  so  as  to  make  the  best  of  them." 

"  Why,  Stephen  ?  "  said  Posie  curiously. 

"  Because  they  will  have  more  power." 

"  Oh  !     Power.— Power  for  what  ?  " 

"To  work  for  God." 

"Why  Stephen!  would  they?" 

"  I  think  they  would.  Aren't  you  going  to  let 
me  see  that  picture  ?  " 

"  Presently.  Is  that  all  ?  It  is  very  curious, 
and  delightfully  new  to  me." 

"  I  think  that  is  all.     I  am  glad  it  is  delightful. 


PRINCIPLES.  303 

No,  Posie,  there  is  something  else.  They  must  not 
spend  more  money — or  time — on  their  dressing 
than  is  necessary." 

"How,  necessary?" 

"Necessary  for  those  ends." 

"  0  now  you  have  spoiled  everything.  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  give  me  leave  to  dress  just  as 
I  like.  Stephen,  how  in  the  world  do  you  come  to 
know  so  much  about  it? — that's  what  puzzles  me." 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  much  about  it." 

"But  you  do — and  you're  a  man.  How  come 
you  to  have  even  thought  so  much  about  it  ?  " 

"That  I  could  not  help,"  said  Stephen.  "Teach 
ing  classes,  in  jail  and  out  of  jail,  that  word,  'What 
soever,'  came  up;  and  I  had  to  explain  it.  Now, 
Posie — " 

He  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  Posie  yielded 
the  glass.  The  next  word  was  almost  a  cry  from 
Stephen. 

"  0  what  is  this !  " 

"  That  is  one  of  those  great  mountains — I  forget 
which — they  are  all  '  horns ' — fifteen  thousand  feet 
high.  The  little  village  you  see  is  Zermatt." 

"Fifteen  thousand  feet  high !" repeated  Stephen. 

"About  that.  Would  you  ever  think  people 
could  clirr.b  to  the  top  of  it?  But  they  have,  a 
number  of  people;  some  of  them  got  down  alive, 
and  some  didn't." 

"  I  should  like  to  read  a  book  about  Switzerland; 
if  I  could  get  it.  I  suppose  there  are  books  that 
tell  about  it?" 


304  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  If  you  were  in  Boston  there  would  be  no  diffi 
culty.  There  are  libraries  there  where  you  can 
get  any  book  in  the  world  that  you  want." 

"  Must  be  large !  " 

"  0  they  are.     Take  up  a  whole  house." 

"  I  am  glad  we  do  not  live  in  Boston,  however." 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  am  too.  But  Boston  is  nice, 
Stephen;  there  is  always  something  going  on,  and 
something  pleasant.  Nothing  is  going  on  here." 

"  Nothing !  "  echoed  Stephen.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  going  blackberrying  ?  " 

"0  blackberries!  yes,  that  is  delightful.  I  for 
got  blackberries." 

"You  forgot  a  good  deal  more.  You  forgot 
chestnuts." 

"So  I  did.  There  is  nothing  like  going  after 
chestnuts.  But  that's  not  till  frost." 

"  Haven't  we  butternuts  in  the  mean  time  ?  I'll 
crack  you  some  presently,  when  I  get  up  and  down 
this  mountain  once." 

"  There's  another  thing,  Stephen,"  Posie  went  on 
meditatively.  "  Things  are  nicer  in  Boston  in  an 
other  way.  Things  are  handsome.  Houses,  and 
furniture,  and  all  that.  Home  looks  pleasant  of 
course  to  me  when  I  come  home,  but  it  looks  queer 
too;  queerer  than  you  can  think." 

"  Very  likely,  till  your  eyes  get  accustomed  to 
it;  and  then  it  is  Boston  which  would  look 
queer." 

"But  they  know  how  to  do  things  better  in 
Boston." 


PRINCIPLES.  305 

"  Do  they  ?     What  things  ?  " 

"0  everything,"  said  Posie  vaguely.  "Parties 
and  dinners,  as  well  as  houses  and  dresses  and 
talk.  People  talk  better  there,  a  great  deal.  They 
know  how." 

"You  know  how,"  said  Stephen.  "That's  enough 
for  me.  I  guess  it's  better  here,-  Posie,  after  all; 
and  I'm  glad  we  have  got  you  home  again.  I'll 
make  you  unsay  all  that  about  Cowslip  and  Boston 
by  and  by.  Now  what's  next  ?  " 

The  next  was  Geneva  and  the  lake.  Posie  in 
her  purchases  had  followed  what  she  knew  about 
the  travels  of  her  friend's  sister;  so  there  was  the 
Lake  of  Geneva,  the  Rialto  at  Venice,  St.  Peter's 
at  Rome,  and  Naples  with  Vesuvius;  a  rich  half 
dozen ;  over  which  there  was  a  great  deal  of  talk 
which  to  Stephen  at  least  seemed  very  good.  Then 
the  evening  falling,  they  repaired  to  the  kitchen 
to  crack  butternuts ;  and  had  a  cosy  hour  on  Jonto's 
hearth.  She  had  grown  no  older,  to  all  seeming, 
and  was  precisely  what  she  had  been  when  Stephen 
first  knew  her.  Jonto  was  preparing  supper  while 
Stephen  was  cracking  butternuts;  and  both  of  them, 
through  all,  were  devouring  every  word  and  look 
of  Posie.  Her  part  was  to  give  them  this  gratifi 
cation.  She  had  always  given  it  to  them,  since 
she  had  been  a  little  child,  though  the  child  had 
been  somewhat  unreasoning  and  petulant  and  way 
ward.  There  was  none  of  that  now ;  only  bright 
ness  and  sweetness,  and  soft  merry  ways,  and 
endless  life  and  variety;  a  ripple  of  words  and  a 


306  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

flow  of  laughter,  and  little  coaxing,  caressing, 
wayward  movements  and  propositions  and  fan- 
cies,  which  had  none  but  pretty  waywardness 
There  was  nothing  about  her  that  was  not  pret 
ty;  nothing  that  was  not  loving  and  winning;  the 
identity  of  the  child  kept  up  with  the  grace  of  the 
woman.  Jonto  attended  to  her  supper  prepara 
tions  without  seeming  to  take  an  eye  from  Posie; 
Stephen  precisely  reversed  that,  and  lost  not  a  move 
ment  or  look  or  turn  of  hers,  while  he  seemed  to 
see  nothing  but  his  hammer  arid  his  nuts.  The 
fire  blazed  up,  but  they  did  not  mind  it;  Cowslip 
was  too  far  north  to  be  a  hot  region ;  the  odours 
from  Jonto's  steaming  pots  and  pans  were  of  a 
most  savoury  description ;  Jonto's  words  and  com 
ments  were  both  original  and  incentive ;  and  it  is 
fair  to  say  the  kitchen  held  good  company. 

In  all  time  that  followed,  Stephen  never  forgot 
the  images  of  that  evening.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harden- 
brook  did  not  return  early;  the  evening  deepened 
into  night;  Posie  declared  she  was  very  hungry; 
and  at  last  Jonto  would  let  them  wait  no  longer, 
but  set  the  table  there  in  the  kitchen,  made  her 
coffee,  and  dished  up  supper  for  the  two.  It  was 
a  merry  rneal.  Jonto  waited  on -them  lovingly, 
spicing  the  talk  with  her  original  observations; 
and  they  praised  her  cookery  and  did  justice 
to  it. 

"Now  you's  come  home  to  stay,  Miss  Posie, 
what's  you  gwine  to  do  ? "  the  old  woman  at 
length  asked. 


PRINCIPLES.  307 

"  Enjoy  myself,  I  hope,  Jonto.     It  looks  like  it." 

"  Bless  de  Lord,  it  do  look  like  it.  But  aint  you 
gwine  to  do  nuffin  else  ?  " 

"Stephen  wants  me  to  go  teach  in  the  jail. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  What  jail  ?  "  said  Jonto  suddenly  straightening 
herself  up. 

"  There's  only  one ;  the  jail  at  Deepford." 

"  Who's  dar  ?  "  asked  Jonto  in  the  same  manner. 

"  O  all  sorts  of  terrible  people  who  are  shut  up 
there  for  their  misdeeds.  It's  the  State  jail,  you 
know,  Jonto.  All  sorts  of  dreadful  people.  Don't 
you  think,  Stephen  wants  me  to  go  and  teach 
them  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  Posie." 

"No  matter;  you  meant  it." 

"No,  I  did  not  mean  it;  for  I  did  not  suppose 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  would  be  willing." 

"But  if  she  would  be  willing,  you  would?" 

"Yes." 

"  Is  dat  whar  you  goes  arternoons  o'  Sunday  ?  " 
demanded  Jonto,  facing  round  on  Stephen. 

"  Yes,  Jonto." 

"  An'  I  never  knowed  it !  You  does  keep  your 
right  hand  behind  you,  for  sure !  Does  you  go  to 
larn  sich  folk  as  dat  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  Jonto?  they  need  it,  don't  they?" 

"  An'  does  dey  larn  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  they  do;  some  of  them." 

"Wall," — said  the  old  woman,  "you  is  makin'  a 
straight  track,  you  is  !  " 


308  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  going  to  such  a  place, 
Jonto  ?  "  Posie  asked  again. 

"  Miss  Posie,"  said  Jonto  solemnly,  "  ef  you  tinks 
anybody's  too  good  to  do  de  Lord's  work,  you  is 
out  in  you's  calkilations.  De  dear  Lord  warn't, 
hisself;  and  I  reckon  you  can't  get  no  furder'n  dat." 

"  But  do  you  think  I  am  fit  for  it  ?  "  said  Posie, 
a  little  wounded.  Jonto  shook  her  head. 

"  Dunno,  gal.  If  you  aint,  it  aint  because  you's 
too  good." 

"  But  not  good  enough,  you  mean  ! " 

"  Mebbe.  De  blessed  sun  hisself  aint  too  good 
fur  to  shine  onto  me.  Dar!  I  don't  want  to  go 
far  to  make  Mr.  Stephen  out  o'  patience  wid  me." 

"  Stephen  is  never  out  of  patience." 

"  Don't  you  go  fur  to  tink  dat,"  said  Jonto.  "  He 
do  know  how  to  be  quiet  and  keep  hisself  to  his 
self;  he  do;  but  I  wouldn't  want  to  be  in  his  way 
nohow,  when  he's  a  mind  to  do  sumfin.  When  I 
sees  two  little  krinkles  in  his  forehead — dar — den 
I  keeps  out  o'  his  way,  keerful." 

"  But  that  need  not  be  impatience,"  said  Stephen 
laughing. 

"  Dunno  what  'tis — I  doesn't  know  your  high 
English — you  may  call  it  what  you  like,  boy.  It 
doesn't  make  no  difference  what  you  call  tings; 
dey  is  de  same  tings." 

That  was  a  thoroughly  comfortable  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  GENTIAN. 

IT  was  the  introduction  to  a  summer  as  comfort 
able.  The  whole  family  were  very  happy,  after 
their  several  ways;  but  Stephen  and  Posie  revelled 
in  all  natural  and  social  and  innocent  delights. 
Posie  was  at  home,  and  not  going  away  again; 
that  was  the  background  of  solid  comfort  on  which 
all  lights  and  colours  of  summer  joy  were  embroi 
dered.  Every  day  was  a  festival.  Not  but  that 
Stephen  had  his  work,  and  was  busy  with  it;  while 
Posie  attended  upon  her  mother's  movements  or 
pleasures.  And  Stephen  never  neglected  his  work, 
or  cut  it  short  a  minute  too  soon.  But  summer 
days  are  long;  and  after  he  left  the  factory  there 
was  still  time  for  a  walk  or  a  drive,  and  Posie 
was  sure  to  have  some  plan  involving  the  one  or 
the  other.  Stephen  was  not  now  bound  to  days' 
work  of  so  many  hours;  he  had  got  above  that; 
and  was  rather  in  a  sort  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  agent  and 
representative.  Mr.  Gordon  still  managed  the  work 
and  the  workmen  in  the  factory,  but  Stephen  held 

wider  powers  and  responsibilities ;  transacted  busi- 

(309) 


310  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

ness  outside  of  the  factory;  carried  on  correspond 
ence;  received  and  paid  money;  kept  accounts. 
lie  filled  the  place  of  a  son  to  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  in 
almost  every  way,  affection  not  excepted.  So  he 
could  come  away  from  the  workrooms  often  when 
nobody  else  could;  often  lie  must;  he  had  drives  to 
take  to  Deepford  and  Cowslip,  and  further  away 
than  either,  in  looking  after  the  interests  of  his 
principal.  Posie  went  with  him  sometimes  on 
these  occasions.  But  whenever  he  had  no  business 
on  hand,  Stephen  was  her  slave;  with  nothing  to 
do  but  obey  her  behests  and  minister  to  her  fancies; 
and  Posie  had  as  many  fancies  as  ever  a  girl  in  the 
whole  State. 

One  of  her  fancies  was  to  paint  flowers.  There 
were  a  great  abundance  of  flowers  in  the  garden; 
however,  Posie's  heart  was  set  upon  wild  ones. 
Stephen  and  she  ransacked  the  woods  and  mead 
ows,  far  and  near,  for  what  they  could  find.  The 
moccasin  flower  and  the  pipsissewa,  liverleaf  and 
wild  violet,  were  close  about  them;  with  the  wild 
rose  and  sweet  briar.  The  meadows  gave  them 
asclepias  of  various  rich  hues,  lilies,  asters,  golden 
rod,  and  cardinal  flower  in  damp  places.  Stephen 
got  pond  lilies  and  arums  and  nameless  wild  growths 
from  wet  ground  where  Posie  could  not  convenient 
ly  venture.  All  these  not  being  sufficient,  they 
took  walks  and  drives,  sometimes  to  a  long  dis 
tance,  to  gather  the  flowers  only  to  be  found  in 
certain  soils  or  peculiar  situations.  Nothing  could 
be  pleasanter  than  these  expeditions,  in  the  late 


THE  GENTIAN.  311 

summer  afternoons,  with  the  rays  of  the  sun  com 
ing  more  and  more  aslant,  and  the  air  growing 
cooler  every  moment,  and  the  lights  and  shades 
more  marked  and  lovely.  Both  the  young  people 
felt  the  influence  of  all  this  beauty,  as  many  do  who 
little  think  of  it;  they  felt  it,  but  they  talked  no 
artistic  talk.  Neither  of  them  had  art  knowledge 
or  tastes,  except  in  the  very  mild  form  of  Posie's 
flower  painting;  and  even  that  was  unshared  by 
Stephen.  He  "did  not  see  the  use."  There  were 
the  flowers  themselves,  bodily;  why  make  a  poor 
and  cold  presentment  of  them  upon  paper  ?  *l  To 
have  when  the  flowers  are  gone  " — was  Posie's  an 
swer.  "  The  flowers  die,  Stephen." 

"  Your  copies  of  them  don't  live.  They  are  not 
alive  to  begin  with." 

"  When  I  get  to  painting  them  very  well,  you 
will  think  they  are." 

"  Won't  deceive  the  bees ! — or  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  deceive  you,  or  anybody !  If 
you  thought  they  were  real,  I  should  lose  the  cred 
it  of  doing  them  well." 

"  So  you  paint  for  the  credit  of  it  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't!  I  paint  for  the  pleasure  of  it. 
But  I  like  the  credit  too.  There  would  be  no 
pleasure  if  I  could  get  no  credit.  Don't  you  do 
things  for  the  credit  of  it  ?  or  don't  you  do  them 
ivettioi-  the  credit  of  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Stephen  slowly.  "  I  hope 
not." 

"Hope  not?  why? 


312  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  It  isn't  a  good  motive." 

"Why  Stephen,  everybody  says  it  is.  Isn't  it 
right  to  like  praise  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  one  cannot  help  liking  it." 

"  Then  it  is  right.  What  you  cannot  help,  must 
be  right.  It  can't  be  wrong." 

"  But  it  is  not  right  to  seek  for  it,  or  to  work  for 
it," — Stephen  went  on. 

"What  would  you  work  for  then?  Just  bare 
dry  duty  ?  " 

"No." 

"  What  then  ?  Speak  out,  Stephen,  if  you  can." 
Stephen  did  not  seem  to  find  it  easy  to  speak  out. 

"I  mean,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  think  one  ought 
not  to  work  for  the  praise  of  men.  The  praise  of 
God  is  better." 

"  Why  of  course ! "  said  Posie  almost  pettishly, 
— "of  course  !  but  if  you  get  the  first,  isn't  it  a  sign 
that  you  have  the  other  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

"Why  Stephen,  it  ought  to  be?" 

"  It  ought  to  be,  but  it  is  not.  The  Bible  says, 
the  things  which  are  highly  esteemed  among  men, 
are  abomination  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"  Some  things,  I  suppose." 

Stephen  was  silent. 

"  What  things,  Stephen  ?     I  don't  know  what," 

"  Don't  you  ?  " 

"No.     Do  go  on  and  tell  me.     I  can't  think." 

"Well,"  said  Stephen  slowly,  "just  look  at  the 
way  things  are  in  the  world.  If  a  man  takes  care 


THE  GENTIAN.  313 

of  himself  and  his  family,  grows  rich,  builds  a  fine 
house,  and  has  everything  of  the  best  around  him ; 
do  not  people  say  he  has  done  well,  and  give  him 
their  applause  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  they  ought.  Isn't  that  right?  I  am 
sure  nobody  likes  a  laggard  or  a  man  that  does  not 
attend  to  his  business  and  take  care  of  his  family." 

Stephen  made  no  immediate  reply,  and  Posie 
burst  out  a  little  impatiently  again. 

"Why  don't  you  speak,  Stephen?  Don't  you 
call  that  right?" 

"It  may  be  all  right,"  said  Stephen,  "if  he  is  do 
ing  it  to  the  glory  of  God." 

"  I  do  not  understand — "  said  Posie,  a  little  awed, 
and  dropping  her  voice. 

"  If  he  is  not,"  Stephen  went  on; — "if  he  is  doing 
it  merely  for  his  own  pleasure  and  thinking  of  noth 
ing  else, — then  this  word  comes  to  him,  that  Hag- 
gai  spoke  to  the  Jews  who  were  attending  only  to 
their  own  affairs — *  Is  it  time  for  you,  O  ye,  to  dwell 
in  ceiled  houses,  and  this  house  to  lie  waste  ? '  I 
have  not  got  the  exact  words." 

"  What  house  was  that  ?  " 

"  The  temple,  which  they  should  have  been  re 
building.  You  know,  Nebuchadnezzar's  general 
had  destroyed  it." 

"Well,  Stephen,  but  we  have  no  temple  to  build 
now." 

"  Yes  we  have.     I  beg  your  pardon." 

"Churches,  do  you  mean?  There  are  more 
churches  now  than  the  people  will  fill." 


314  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  do  not  mean  churches." 

"What  then?" 

"Don't  you  remember,  that,  according  to  the  New 
Testament,  the  true  temple  of  the  Lord  is  the  living 
church  of  his  people;  and  every  individual  Chris 
tian  is  a  living  stone  in  that  temple,  fitted  and 
polished  to  fill  his  place  in  it,  and  built  upon  the 
Corner  stone,  which  is  Christ.  And  so  this  living 
temple  is  silently  growing,  like  Solomon's,  which 
was  merely  a  type  of  it." 

"  But  how  can  we  build  this  temple  ?  "  said  Posie. 
"  We  cannot  make  Christians." 

"  That  is  what  the  Lord  told  us  to  do,  though. 
'Go  into  all  the  world,  and  make  disciples  of  every 
creature.'" 

"What  has  this  to  do  with  what  you  started 
from, — a  man's  building  a  good  house,  and  all 
that?" 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  see.  It  is  right  for  us  to  be  com 
fortable,  and  to  have  nice  things." 

"  And  it  is  right  for  us  to  help  build  the  Lord's 
temple." 

"  What  hinders  our  doing  both  ?  " 

"Nothing;  only  the  world  will  praise  you  when 
your  principal  care  is  about  your  own  house ;  and 
the  Lord's  praise  is  for  them  who  take  most  care 
of  his." 

"  Stephen,"  said  Posie  after  a  slight  pause,  u  do 
you  know,  I  think  you  are  just  a  little  bit  blue  ? " 

"  Isn't  all  true  that  I  have  said  ?  " 


THE  GENTIAN.  315 

"  I  don't  want  people  to  think  you  blue." 

"  I'll  bear  it," — said  Stephen  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  came  to  get  all  this  rig 
marole  into  your  head.  Not  from  anything  in  our 
house,  I  hope  ?  " 

"No — "  said  Stephen  thoughtfully;  "rather  from 
my  class  in  the  jail." 

"  0  Stephen  !— how  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  know  them  pretty  well  now, 
you  know,"  Stephen  went  on  with  a  tone  of  sym 
pathy  in  his  voice  at  which  Posie  wondered ;  "  and 
they  tell  me  their  stories,  from  time  to  time,  one 
and  another;  and  if  I  could  tell  them  to  you  again, 
you  would  see  that  in  all  their  lives, — of  most  of 
them, — nobody  has  ever  given  them  the  least  help 
or  cared  for  them  in  any  way.  Instead  of  that, 
they  have  been  cheated,  and  wronged,  and  pushed 
to  the  wall,  and  tempted,  all  their  lives;  and  nobody 
put  out  a  hand  or  said  a  kind  word  to  save  them." 

"But  we  cannot  help  it;  and  what's  the  use  of 
worrying  about  what  you  can't  help?  " 

"  We  can  help  doing  the  same  wrong,  can't  we  ?  " 

"How?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Stephen, — "  unless  by  tak 
ing  care  of  everybody  that  comes  in  our  way." 

"  Then  you  would  do  nothing  else  in  the  world!  " 

"I  am  willing  to  do  nothing  else,"  said  Stephen. 
"  I  think,  to  help  build  the  Lord's  temple  is  the 
grandest  work  anybody  can  do." 

"  But  what  one  person  can  do,  don't  amount  to 
anything;  or  not  much." 


31G  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Suppose  we  try  " — said  Stephen  quietly. 

"  We!     What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Take  hold  of  what  comes  first.  You  know,  that 
is  what  the  first  disciples  did,  when  they  began  to 
know  Jesus.  Andrew  went  after  his  brother  Simon ; 
and  Philip  got  hold  of  Nathanael  and  brought  him. 
And  the  good  Samaritan  stopped  on  his  journey  to 
look  after  that  wounded  man  lying  in  the  road." 

"  And  you  think  we  all  ought  to  do,  just  so  V  " 

"  I  know  we  ought,"  said  Stephen  in  the  same 
tone  of  quiet  conviction. 

Posie  was  silent,  and  disturbed,  for  her  cheeks 
flushed  and  her  eyes  filled. 

"  And  that  is  your  idea  of  religion  ?  "  she  asked 
presently. 

"  It  is  following  Christ,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Now  Stephen,"  said  the  girl  with  an  effort,  "you 
have  just  made  me  blue; — and  I  didn't  come  out  to 
be  blue.  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Over  beyond  More's  hill,  to  look  for  the  blue 
gentian." 

"  0  the  blue  gentian !  Do  you  think  we  shall 
find  it?" 

"  I  have  found  it  there.     We  can't  tell  till  we  try." 

The  conversation  with  that  took  another  turn 
and  rather  died  out.  Stephen  was  driving  over  an 
unaccustomed  road,  and  Posie  was  interested  and 
curious.  Beyond  the  hill  mentioned  they  came  to 
a  wild  and  waste  piece  of  country,  somewhat  broken 
and  very  thinly  wooded ;  and  here  Stephen  tied  his 
horse  to  the  fence,  and  they  got  out  of  the  buggy, 


THE  GENTIAN.  317 

and  in  the  light  of  the  sinking  sun  roamed  over  the 
ground,  looking  for  the  desired  flower.  And  they 
found  it,  just  as  the  sun  went  down,  lifting  its  blue, 
fair,  fringed  blossoms  under  an  evening  sky  that 
was  not  more  fair.  Posie  broke  out  into  raptures ; 
Stephen  stood  still,  contemplating  the  flower  he  had 
gathered. 

"  You  do  not  object  to  some  things  being  blue," 
he  remarked. 

"  This  sort  of  blue — "  said  Posie. 

"The  two  sorts  are  not  so  different,"  said  Stephen. 

"  0  Stephen,  how  ridiculous  !  This  is  a  colour, 
and  a  flower." 

"The  things  go  together,  though.  You  may 
notice, — if  anybody  is  true,  people  will  call  him 
blue." 

"  I  did  not  mean  anything  lovely  like  this  blue,  1 
can  tell  you." 

"No;  you  are  taking  the  Lord's  view  of  it  now. 
The  blue  gentian  always  seems  to  me  like  a  real 
Christian;  just  so  true  and  pure  and  lovely,  and  just 
so  living  pretty  much  alone  and  not  known  by  the 
world. — Come,  we  must  be  jogging  home;  the  sun 
is  down." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  'the  Lord's  view  of  it'?" 
Posie  asked  as  they  went  back  to  the  road. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  made  the  gentian 
for?" 

"  I  don't  know — the  same  as  all  the  other  flowers, 
I  suppose;  to  give  us  pleasure." 

"  And  to  teach  us  lessons.     A  great  many  of  the 


318  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

flowers  are  always  saying  to  me,  'Be  like  me;  be 
like  me  ! ' " 

"  Not  all  of  them  ?  " 

"No,  not  all  of  them." 

u  What  do  the  others  say  ?  " 

UA  great  many  different  things,"  said  Stephen 
laughing. 

"  Stephen,  I  never  thought  before  that  you  had 
any  poetry  in  you." 

"  Pray  do  not  think  it  now,"  said  Stephen.  "  I 
certainly  have  not  a  bit." 

"  But  that's  poetical." 

"  No,  it  is  merely  truth." 

Into  the  close  connection  between  poetry  and 
truth,  however,  neither  of  them  was  qualified  to 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

JOHN  HOWAED. 

PAINTING  flowers  was  only  one  of  Posie's  fan 
cies.  The  fancies  succeeded  one  another,  at 
various  intervals.  The  sight  of  an  alum  basket  at  a 
house  in  Deepford  made  a  diversion  from  the  flowers ; 
they  lost  their  supremacy;  and  from  that  time  there 
was  a  reign  of  alum  baskets.  Stephen  came  into 
requisition  for  these  too,  just  as  much ;  for  it  fell  to 
him  to  build  the  wire  frames,  which  then  by  Posie's 
arts  were  manufactured  into  white  glistering  crys 
tallisations,  as  beautiful,  she  thought,  as  if  they  had 
come  out  of  Aladdin's  cave.  Stephen  thought  so 
too,  although  he  was  not  quite  so  enthusiastic 
about  them.  However,  his  part  of  the  business, 
the  constructing  baskets  of  wire  of  all  sorts  of 
sizes  and  patterns;  even  the  forming  sometimes  of 
model  shapes,  over  and  round  which  the  wires  were 
twisted  and  bent  artistically;  all  this,  with  Posie 
sitting  by  and  looking  on,  and  putting  in  her  word 
continually,  of  suggestion  or  correction,  or  it  might 
well  be  of  admiration ;  all  this  was  very  fascinating* 
it  was  about  as  good  as  going  after  flowers.  For 


320  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

indeed  to  be  serving  Posie  and  to  be  with  Posie 
was  the  real  kernel  of  the  enjoyment  in  both  cases 
to  him.  The  crystallisation  of  alum  went  on  till 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  complained  he  could  not  move 
about  in  his  house  without  the  danger  of  throwing 
down  something  fragile,  the  destruction  of  which 
caused  an  outcry. 

In  the  nature  of  things  this  could  not  last. 
Suddenly,  as  it  were,  the  alum  pot  was  no  longer 
called  for,  and  alum  baskets  could  be  broken  with 
out  any  very  great  display  of  feeling.  Posie  had 
taken  to  embroidery. 

Not  the  kind  which  means  patient  labour  in 
white  cotton  and  muslin.  Posie  wanted  to  produce 
quicker  and  more  brilliant  effects.  Worsteds  and 
crewels  were  her  new  working  material;  and  as 
these  were  to  be  had  in  only  very  scant  variety  and 
poor  quality  at  the  village  of  Cowslip,  Stephen's 
help  was  again  and  frequently  invoked.  Posie 
must  go  to  Deepford  to  see  what  could  be  got 
there;  and  Deepford  supply  proving  quite  insiiffi- 
cient,  it  followed  that  more  distant  expeditions 
must  be  undertaken,  one  even  so  far  as  to  Concord, 
which  was  somewhat  more  reachable  than  Boston. 
Then  indeed  Posie  buried  herself  in  her  work,  and 
Stephen  had  little  attention.  He  might  sit  and 
look  on,  as  her  fingers  worked ;  and  now-  and  then 
be  asked  "how  he  liked  it?"  to  which  question  his 
answers  were  not  always  satisfactory.  I  suppose 
crewel  work  is  not  generally  appreciated  by  the 
masculine  part  of  creation.  He  could  look  at  Posie, 


JOHN  HOWARD.  321 

it  is  true,  undisturbed,  by  the  half  hour  together; 
out  Stephen  was  not  one  of  those  men  who  give 
up  their  own  existence,  as  it  were,  and  even  for 
half  hours  dawdle  about  any  woman.  So  long  as 
he  might  help  her,  or  serve  her,  he  took  it  as  a  de 
lightful  privilege,  and  never  counted  the  hours  nor 
weighed  the  work;  it  Stephen  could  do  nothing, 
he  presently  turned  to  some  other  quarter  where 
he  could  be  active.  Sometimes  he  got  hold  of  a 
book,  and'  if  it  was  of  a  sort  to  get  hold  of  him, 
Stephen  could  be  as  absorbed  as  Posie  herself. 

So  it  happened  one  very  warm  day  in  early 
September  that  she  missed  him.  Posie  had  been 
for  hours  at  work  upon  a  crewel  rose,  which  she 
was  declaring  to  her  mother  did  "look  quite  a 
good  deal  like  a  rose."  Fingers  and  eyes  were 
tired  at  last,  and  Posie  began  to  ask  for  her  play 
fellow.  He  had  passed  through  the  room,  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  said,  a  long  while  ago — in  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon;  she  did  not  understand  for  her 
part  why  Stephen  was  not  in  the  workroom  with 
the  rest;  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  let  loose 
from  all  rules. 

"  Why  mother,  he  went  to  Deepford  this  after 
noon  011  some  business  for  father.  He  could  not 
have  got  back  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  if 
he  had  tried." 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  tried,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Har 
denbrook.  *'  It  seerns  to  me  your  father  would  do 
better  to  attend  to  his  own  business;  but  he  has  his 
own  way.  I  think  differently." 


322  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Mother,  where  is  Stephen?"  said  Posie  impa 
tiently. 

*'  If  you  sit  still,  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  here 
soon.  The  sun  is  almost  down ;  he  will  come  to  sup 
per,  from  wherever  he  is.  He  never  misses  that." 

"Why  should  be  miss  it?''  said  Posie,  laughing, 
though  she  was  vexed.  "  I  don't  miss  suppertime 
either;  nor  you,  mother.  You  never  miss  it,  unless 
you  have  a  headache.  Stephen  and  I  don't  have 
headaches.  Did  he  corne  through  here?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  believe  so — I  paid  no  attention. 
His  goings  and  comings  are  nothing  to  me." 

But  it  was  a  different  case  with  Posie;  and  she 
went  forthwith  out  of  a  glass  door  that  was  stand 
ing  open  and  led  into  the  garden,  and  marched 
down  one  of  the  walks,  looking  as  she  went  on 
every  side.  The  garden  was  an  old-fashioned 
place,  a  fruit  and  flower  wilderness ;  in  which  both 
abounded,  but  in  which  luxuriance  ran  riot.  There 
was  neither  order  nor  plan.  Plum  trees,  pear  trees, 
apple  trees,  grew  here  and  there  and  throve  well; 
between  and  under  and  around  them  flowers  of 
every  homely  and  wonted  sort  grew  almost  wild 
and  pretty  much  where  they  would;  and  by  the 
walls  in  places  were  plantations  of  raspberry  and 
blackberry  bushes,  and  strawberry  vines  covered 
great  patches,  and  currants  and  gooseberries  bris 
tled  up  everywhere  along  the  walks.  Yet  though 
it  was  unordered  and  wild,  the  place  had  a  cer 
tain  prettiness  of  its  own;  a  charm  of  rich,  rank 
abundance ;  and  it  was  not  in  one  sense  neglected, 


JOHN  HOWARD.  323 

for  there  were  no  weeds.  Here  too  Stephen's  ac 
tivity  had  been  at  work.  Disorder  was  abhorrent 
to  him;  he  simply  could  not  eat  his  breakfast  in 
the  summer  room,  which  looked  out  upon  the  gar 
den,  and  see  the  latter  a  mass  of  unthrifty  growth. 
When  he  had  done  his  work  there,  nobody  could 
tell ;  often  it  had  been  by  snatches ;  but  it  was  done. 
The  garden  was  wild,  but  sightly;  and  as  Posie 
passed  down  the  walks  a  sweet  spicy  smell  came  to 
her  nostrils  from  the  late  flowers;  asters,  artemisias, 
and  honeysuckle,  and  pinks,  and  I  know  not  what 
all;  which  were  still  blooming  on  every  side  of  her. 
She  did  not  regard  it,  or  them ;  indeed  Stephen  was 
the  one  in  the  family  for  whom  flowers  had  the 
most  attraction ;  unless,  to  be  sure,  they  were  to  be 
painted  or  embroidered. 

Posie  felt  pretty  sure  that  in  some  thicket  of  this 
wilderness  she  would  find  the  person  she  sought; 
and  presently  she  caught  sight  of  him.  At  the  end 
of  a  grape  arbour  thick  hung  with  purple  clusters, 
half  in  and  half  out  of  it,  prone  on  a  grassy  bank, 
Stephen  was  lying,  with  a  book  in  his  hand.  From 
afar  Posie  discerned  his  head ;  and  stepping  upon 
the  grass  border  of  the  walk  she  went  on  with  soft 
steps,  meaning  to  take  him  by  surprise.  So  it  came 
to  pass,  that  she  saw  some  odd  movements  of  Ste 
phen's  hand  across  his  forehead,  or  over  his  eyes. 
which  excited  much  her  curiosity;  she  went  slower 
still.  Yes,  she  was  sure  of  it;  Stephen's  fingers 
were  passed  again  over  his  eyes,  with  an  unmis- 
takeable  gesture ;  he  must  have  got  hold  of  a  very 


324  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

extraordinary  book  that  could  move  him  like  that 
Posie  was  bewildered  to  such  a  degree  that  she  for 
got  to  tread  only  on  the  grass;  Stephen's  head  made 
a  quick  movement,  and  then  he  sat  up  and  smiled 
at  her. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Stephen  ?  " 

Stephen  shewed  a  book  in  his  hand. 

"  What  is  that?" 

"The  life  of  John  Howard." 

"The  philanthropist?" 

"  The  lover  of  men.  There  cannot  have  been  but 
one  John  Howard." 

"Does  it  interest  you  so  much?"  said  Posie 
vaguely. 

"  So  much  as  what  ?  " 

"  So  much  as  to  keep  you  here  all  the  afternoon." 

"  It  was  not  exactly  that,"  said  Stephen  slowly. 
"  It  set  me  to  thinking." 

"About  what?" 

"  How  a  man  can  make  his  life  worth  something." 

"Life  worth  something!"  Posie  echoed.  "To 
have  life  worth  something,  one  must  enjoy  it,  I 
should  think.  What  is  it  good  for  if  you  don't  ? '' 

"  It  is  good  for  nothing,  if  that  is  all." 

"  But  what  is  it  good  for  if  you  don't  enjoy  it, 
Stephen?" 

"Howard's  life  was  good  for  something.  It  is 
grand !  Do  you  know  what  the  state  of  things 
was,  in  jails  and  prisons,  before  he  began  to  work 
in  them?" 

"  He  did  not  work  in  them,  Stephen." 


JOHN  HOWARD.  325 

"He  went  all  over  visiting  them.  You  would 
have  called  that  work,  I  think,  and  hard  work  too ; 
terrible  work.  Think  of  going  into  such  places. 
Here  was  one  at  Durham — and  this  is  only  a  spec 
imen.  Men  who  had  committed  no  crime,  only 
were  unable  to  pay  their  debts,  were  shut  up  in 
little  rooms  ten  feet  four  inches  square;  and  they 
were  kept  there  all  the  time,  unless  sometimes  they 
went  to  chapel  on  Sunday.  They  had  no  yard  to 
walk  in,  and  never  did  get  out  to  have  a  breath  of 
fresh  air.  And  in  that  jail  the  criminals,  or  felons 
rather,  were  in  regular  dungeons.  Think  of  three 
men  in  a  room  seven  feet  square,  and  never 
cleaned ! " 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  of  it,  I  am  sure,  Stephen. 
What  horrors ! " 

"At  another  place,  the  prisoners  were  in  cells 
underground,  with  no  opening  at  all  to  the  air; 
only  a  little  hole  over  each  cell  door  opening  into 
a  breathless  underground  passage;  and  four  men 
sometimes  put  in  one  of  these  cells,  not  eight  feet 
by  three  !  It  is  past  belief!  " 

"What  do  you  read  such  disagreeable  things 
for?" 

"What  do  you  think  of  visiting  them  ? — going 
into  them  ? — going  from  one  to  another,  and  spend 
ing  one's  time  in  doing  just  that?" 

Posie  writhed  a  little  in  her  disgust. 

"  I  suppose  he  liked  to  do  it,"  she  said.  "  Or  he 
wouldn't  have  done  it.  Do  you  enjoy  that  book, 
Stephen?" 


326  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Yes.  It  shews  one  what  a  man  can  do.  It 
makes  me  think  what  life  may  be  good  for." 

"But  Stephen,  all  that  is  better  now.  That 
work  is  done.  People  build  comfortable  prisons 
now,  and  take  good  care  of  the  prisoners." 

Stephen  was  silent;  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand, 
and  looked  very  thoughtful. 

"  Stephen,  what  are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  said 
Posie  with  a  little  uneasy  impatience. 

"  I  don't  suppose  all  the  wrong  is  righted  yet," 
said  the  young  man  without  altering  his  attitude. 
"  Prisons  may  be  better, — but  there  are  other  things 
that  want  mending." 

*'  Well,  it  isn't  your  business  to  mend  them." 

"  How  do  I  know  that?  or  how  do  you?" 

"Why  Stephen,  your  business  is  here.  You  are 
helping  papa,  and  taking  care  of  me.  And  getting 
in  the  way  to  make  your  fortune.  Papa  says  you 
will.  He  says  you  have  a  capital  head  for  busi 
ness." 

"  All  that  is  just  for  myself,"  said  Stephen  in  the 
same  thoughtful  way. 

"No  it  isn't;  it  is  for  me,  and  for  us.  And  what 
if  it  were  for  yourself?  Why  shouldn't  it  be? 
what's  the  harm  ?  " 

"  What's  a  life  worth,  Posie,  that  begins  and  ends 
with  oneself?" 

"  Why  worth  the  pleasure  of  it !  What  would  it 
be  worth,  I  should  like  to  know,  if  you  went  pok 
ing  into  all  sorts  of  horrid  places  and  people  like 
John  Howard  ?  One  had  better  die  at  once." 


JOHN  HOWARD.  327 

"Not  till  one  has  done  one's  work,"  said  Stephen. 

"It  is  not  your  work — not  this  sort  of  thing. 
That's  certain." 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  it,  Posie;  and  I 
believe,  something  of  this  sort  of  thing  is  every 
body's  work.  What  does  it  mean,  to  do  to  others 
as  we  would  like  to  have  them  do  to  ns  ?  I  don't 
see  but  it  sets  every  one  of  us  to  righting  wrongs 
and  supplying  wants  and  putting  everybody  in  as 
much  comfort  as  we  can  give  them." 

Posie  looked  extremely  disturbed,  and  inquired 
what  wrongs  he  wanted  to  redress  ? 

"  I  don't  know  yet." 

"Then,  I  should  think,  the  wrongs  you  do  not 
know,  you  are  not  bound  to  relieve." 

"Job  says,  'The  cause  I  knew  not  I  searched 
out.'  I  noticed  that  the  other  day." 

"  But  Stephen,  you  cannot  do  much  unless  you 
have  a  great  deal  of  money.  Job  had  it,  and  you 
haven't  it." 

"  That's  a  reason  for  making  money  then,"  said 
Stephen.  "  Posie,  a  life  that  begins  and  ends  with 
oneself  is  ignoble  and  not  worth  living.  Better  be 
a  vegetable,  for  that  at  least  does  its  work  while  it 
lives  and  when  it  dies  enriches  tHe  ground  where 
it  grew.  And  a  servant  of  Christ  ought  to  follow 
his  Master;  and  you  know,  Posie, — Christ  pleased 
not  himself." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  then,  Stephen  ?  " 
Posie  asked  with  a  very  discomfited  expression  of 
face. 


328  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  shall  find  out,  I  suppose, — if  I  am  willing  to 
find  out;  and  I  think  I  am." 

"And  you  would  go  away  and  leave  us — and 
leave  me  ?  and  think  you  were  doing  right  ?  " 

"  If  I  ever  do,  it  will  be  because  I  think  I  am 
doing  right,"  Stephen  answered  with  a  grave  sort 
of  smile.  "That  would  not  be  easy,  Posie.  Perhaps 
I  should  not  be  able  to  go  of  my  own  accord,  and 
must  be  driven.  That  happens, — often,  I  fancy." 

"I'll  burn  up  that  Howard  book!"  exclaimed 
Posie.  "Just  come  in  and  forget  all  this  stuff." 

"I'll  come  in,"  said  Stephen,  rising  with  a  mer 
rier  smile  this  time;  "but  as  to  forgetting, — Sup 
pose  Mr.  Hardenbrook  had  forgotten,  when  he 
found  me,  a  poor  little  helpless  beggar,  in  the  inn 
at  Deepford?  What  would  have  become  of  me? 
Nobody  else  remembered." 

Posie's  answer  was  to  lock  her  arm  affectionately, 
clingingly,  in  his,  and  so,  slowly  and  silently  they 
went  back  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THE  COMING  COUSIN. 

THINGS  went  on  quite  the  usual  way  after  this 
talk,  which  seemed  to  have  left  no  traces  be 
hind  it.  If  it  had  brought  a  momentary  cloud,  it 
was  the  only  one  which  shadowed  the  family  sky 
for  many  months.  It  was  a  sunshiny  time.  Such 
times  come  in  the  Spring  of  the  year  not  infre 
quently;  days  of  absolute  perfection;  when  the 
winds  are  lulled,  and  the  very  sunshine  is  soft, 
and  the  air  is  full  of  the  perfume  of  young  life, 
and  the  colouring  of  the  world  is  not  only  beauty 
but  promise,  and  the  vapours  that  rise  from  earth 
have  no  errand  seemingly  bat  to  float  in  peace 
upon  the  blue  of  heaven.  Such  days  come  too  in 
the  Springtime  of  life,  anid  are  even  so  lovely.  But 
neither  in  nature  nor  experience  are  they  any 
guaranty  against  storms  that  may  come  after. 
However,  if  storms  were  to  follow  upon  this  bright 
time  at  Cowslip,  at  least  the  approach  of  them  car 
ried  no  threatening  with  it.  . 

All   the   fall,  and  all  through  the  winter,  the 
sweet  family  life  was  unchanged.     Except  indeed 

(329) 


330  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

in  some  outward  features  of  its  surroundings;  for 
the  asters  died,  and  the  snow  came;  but  that 
brought  only  a  change  of  enjoyment.  Stephen 
was  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  right  hand,  busy  and  use 
ful  as  ever;  and  he  was  Posie's  bondman,  to  do  all 
her  behests  in  the  time  that  he  could  call  his  own. 
If  any  practical  effects  resulted  from  that  reading 
which  Posie  one  afternoon  interrupted,  perhaps  the 
prisoners  in  the  jail  knew;  but  nobody  at  home. 

The  epistolary  correspondence  of  this  family  with 
the  rest  of  the  world,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  not 
large.  Posie  sometimes  had  a  letter  from  a  school 
friend,  and  her  father  received  business  communi 
cations.  Nobody  ever  wrote  to  Stephen,  and  very 
rarely  anybody  to  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  Therefore 
it  was  an  event,  when  one  day  in  spring  a  letter 
for  that  lady  was  brought  her  by  Stephen  from  the 
Deepford  postoffice.  She  read  it  at  the  supper 
table;  and  brightened  up  very  notably  in  the 
reading. 

"  Whom  is  it  from,  mother?"  inquired  Posie. 

"Somebody  you  never  heard  of." 

"  But  you  seem  glad  ?  " 

"Certainly;  why  shouldn't  I  be?  There  don't 
so  very  often  anything  come  to  give  me  occasion, 
does  there  ?  I  do  think,  living  at  Cowslip  is  like 
living  in  a  hole." 

"  You  do  nol  live  at  Cowslip,  my  dear,"  objected 
her  husband.  "  Arid  it  is  a  pretty  comfortable  sort 
of  a  hole,  if  you  did.  Speak  well  of  the  bridge  that 
carries  you  over." 


THE  COMING  COUSIN.  331 

"  Carries  me  over  ivliat,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  ?  Do 
you  think  I  want  to  be  'carried  over'  life,  as  if 
the  sooner  it  was  passed  the  better?  Bread  and 
butter  isn't  the  only  thing,  either." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook.  "  Jonto  has  given 
us  some  pretty  good  waffles  this  evening.  And  the 
other  day, — how  many  yards  of  black  satin  was  it  ?  " 

"Nonsense,  Mr.  Hardenbrook!  That  satin  will 
not  be  worth  much,  unless  I  have  a  good  many 
yards  of  black  lace  to  trim  it."  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
had  a  way,  quite  peculiar  to  herself,  of  emphasiz 
ing  certain  words  in  her  speech;  which  emphasis 
she  was  wont  to  accompany  with  an  energetic  nod 
of  her  head,  which  made  the  whole  quite  striking. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  But  the  letter,  mother,"  said  Posie.  "  What  is 
in  the  letter?" 

"  A  good  deal,  I  can  tell  you.  Something  quite 
new,  and  refreshing." 

"Whom  is  it  from?" 

"It  is  from  a  gentleman;  and  his  name  is  Erick 
Dunstable." 

"  Dunstable  !  I  never  heard  that  name  before, 
except  I  have  heard  of  Dunstable  straws." 

"  Let  us  hope  this  man  is  not  a  man  of  straw," 
put  in  her  father. 

"  He  is  no  such  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 
"He  is  a  man  of  iron,  rather;  if  you  like  that 
better." 

"Does  the  iron  come  out  in  the  letter?" 

"  How  should  I  know,  if  it  didn't  ?     This  letter 


332  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

is  from  Erick  Dunstable,  the  son  of  my  half-sister, 
who  married  and  went  to  England  so  many  years 
ago;  and  he  is  in  this  country,  and  studying  min 
ing;  so  that's  where  the  iron  comes  in;  and  he 
wants  to  come  to  see  us." 

"  Did  he  need  to  ask  permission  for  that  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  he  wants  to  come  and  spend 
his  vacation  with  us !  He  has  a  long  summer  va 
cation,  and  he  knows  of  course  nobody  in  this 
country  yet;  and  he  says  his  mother  charged  him 
to  look  us  up  and  make  friends  with  us,  the  first 
chance  he  got." 

"  Well  that  is  news  !  "  exclaimed  Posie.  "  How 
nice  to  have  something  happen,  out  of  the  common 
run.  '  You'll  tell  him  to  come,  mother?" 

"  Unless  your  father  puts  his  veto  upon  it.  He 
seems  undecided  what  to  make  of  my  nephew." 

"The  question  will  be,  what  he  has  made  of 
himself.  But  give  him  a  hospitable  answer,  by  all 
means." 

44  Now  if  he  should  be  nice ! " — said  Posie.  "  When 
will  he  come,  mother  ?  " 

"  His  vacation  begins  about  the  first  of  July,  he 
says." 

"  And  how  long  does  it  last  ?  " 

"0,  two  or  three  months,  I  suppose." 

"  If  he  should  be  nice  !  "  Posie  repeated.  "  I  am 
so  glad  he  has  got  an  uncommon  name.  I  am  tired 
of  these  everlasting  Charles's  and  William's  and 
John's  and  James's.  Erick  is  very  pretty ;  does  he 
spell  it  with  a  k,  or  merely  E,  r,  i,  c  ?  " 


THE  COMING  COUSIN.  333 

"  He  spells  it  with  a  k." 

"  I  arn  glad  of  that,"  said  Posie;  while  her  father 
laughed  at  her,  and  even  Stephen  glanced  up  from 
his  supper  with  a  smile.  "You  needn't  laugh; 
there  is  a  prettiness  in  names,  as  well  as  in 
everything  else.  I  don't  like  Dunstable  much, 
though." 

"  You  will,  if  you  like  him,"  said  her  father. 

"  Stephen,"  said  the  girl  suddenly,  "  come  along 
and  see  the  crocuses !  They  are  out,  in  the  grass 
at  the  end  of  the  arbour." 

The  two  young  people  went  away,  and  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook  looked  after  them  significantly.  "  WeU  I " 
she  said,  with  two  or  three  emphatic  movements 
of  her  head  to  accompany  her  accented  words — 
"now  I  hope  we  shall  see  something  new  !  " 

"  That  sounds,  my  dear,  as  if  you  did  not  like 
what  you  see  that  is  not  new." 

"I  think  you  are  blind,  Mr.  Hardenbrook;  that 
is  all." 

"  Of  which  eye,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  of  the  eye  that  looks 
at  your  daughter.  And  anybody  else  would  say  so 
too." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  my  blindness  ap 
pears,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  taking  another 
waffle. 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook,"  said  the  lady  with  increased 
impressiveness,  "  do  you  know  what  a  very  pretty 
girl  your  daughter  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.     I  am  not  blind  so  far." 


334  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Do  you  remember  that  she  will  come  into  a 
very  excellent  fortune  one  of  these  days?" 

"  I  should  remember  it,  seeing  I  have  made  it 
for  her.  And  Stephen  is  doing  his  part  now  to 
enlarge  it,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Yes,  and  did  it  never  strike  you  that  he  has 
his  reasons?" 

"Certainly;  and  I  always  thought  they  were 
very  admirable  reasons." 

"  I  said  you  were  blind! "  said  the  lady  scornfully. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,  Maria;  and  you  are 
desperately  mistaken." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook, 
Betting  her  head  a  one  side,  with  a  smile  that  was 
not  thoroughly  agreeable. 

"Because  I  know  Stephen  Kay — and  it  seems 
you  don't." 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  all  the  world  is  alike." 

"I'd  go  out  of  the  world,  if  I  thought  that." 

"  A  young  man,  and  a  pretty  girl,  and  lots  of 
money.  Why,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  it  couldnt  go  but 
one  way.  Anybody  but  a  man  would  have  known 
it  long  ago." 

"  I  don't  care.     I  am  willing." 

"  That's  just  what  I  thought  I "  said  the  lady  with 
indescribable  expression  of  superiority  and  con 
tempt.  "You  would  be  willing  to  give  Posie  to 
such  a  nobody;  Posie,  and  your  money,  and  all !  " 

"To  such  a  nobody — yes,  I  would.  What's  the 
matter  with  the  boy  ?  He's  as  good  as  gold,  and 
as  true  as  steel;  and  I  can  tell  you,  he's  not  one  of 


THE  COMING  COUSIN.  335 

those  who  must  grow  rich  upon  other  men's  money. 
Let  him  alone,  and  he'll  make  his  own  fortune,  no 
fear.  He's  got  a  capital  head ;  sees  straight  to  the 
point  of  a  thing;  understands  all  the  bearings  of  it 
with  half  a  word;  and  what's  more  perhaps,  when 
he  has  taken  hold  of  a  piece  of  business  he  never 
lets  go  till  he  has  carried  it  through.  You  won't 
find  another  like  Stephen  in  hundreds.  If  he's  poor, 
that's  nothing  to  the  purpose.  So  was  I  poor,  once." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  in  a  sat 
isfied  tone  of  voice;  "nowyoull  see  another  sort 
of  young  man.  Wait  and  you'll  see.  And  Posie 
will  see  too,  I  hope." 

"You  don't  know  this  other  young  man;  and 
you  don't  know  anything  about  him." 

"  He  is  studying  to  be  an  engineer  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  triumphantly.  "  I  know  so  much.  I 
always  did  want  my  daughter  to  rise  in  the  world 
when  she  married." 

"  We  are  talking  in  the  air !  "  said  Mr.  Harden 
brook,  rising  from  table  with  a  vexed  expression. 
"  I  don't  know  that  Stephen  wants  her,  and  you 
don't  know  that  this  other  fellow  wants  her;  it  is 
rather  too  soon  to  quarrel  about  it.  But  mind  my 
words,— which  you  won't  do ;  Stephen  Kay  is  quite 
as  likely  to  set  her  in  high  places,  if  that's  what 
you  want,  as  this  other  boy.  The  trade  don't  make 
the  man,  wife;  don't  you  know  that?  " 

"  I  know  that  you  are  infatuated  about  Stephen 
Kay,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  with  a  little  nod  of 
her  head. 


33G  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

The  young  people  meanwhile  had  gone  out  arid 
looked  at  the  crocuses  on  the  bank ;  but  never  a  word 
was  said  by  either  of  them  about  Erick  Dunstable. 

I  am  not  sure  but  Stephen  was  somewhat  more 
short  in  his  business  communications  with  the  men 
next  day  than  was  ordinarily  his  custom.  He  was 
never  hasty  nor  harsh  to  those  under  him ;  only  to 
day  perhaps  he  was  a  little  more  terse  and  dry  in 
giving  his  orders,  and  used  fewer  words  to  every 
body  than  usual.  If  it  were  so,  it  was  for  that  day 
only;  with  the  next,  all  things  returned  to  their 
old  grooves.  Nothing  more  for  a  time  was  heard 
of  Erick  Dunstable.  The  spring  opened  fairly,  the 
crocuses  were  succeeded  by  the  daffodils-  and  the 
moss  pink  and  the  lily  of  the  valley ;  and  the  pear 
trees  came  out  in  white  beauty,  and  the  cherry 
trees ;  and  then  the  garden  was  loveliest  of  all  with 
its  apple  blossoms.  And  so  indeed  were  the  fields 
generally;  for  round  about  Cowslip  was  a  good 
apple  country.  And  things  in  the  factory  and 
things  in  the  family  took  their  wonted  course; 
until  one  day,  early  in  June,  another  letter  from  Mr. 
Dunstable  came  to  herald  his  own  approach.  About 
the  first  of  July,  he  said,  he  hoped  to  get  free,  and 
would  lose  no  time  in  speeding  to  Cowslip. 

"  It's  just  a  bad  time,"  remarked  Mrs.  Harden- 
brook;  "the  strawberries  will  be  gone,  and  the 
raspberries  won't  be  come  yet." 

This  called  out  a  cry  of  laughter  from  the  rest 
of  the  tableful ;  as  before,  the  letter  had  been  read 
at  meal  time. 


THE  COMING  COUSIN.  337 

"  He  comes  to  see  us,  I  hope ;  not  our  garden," 
said  Mr.  Hardenbrook. 

"  Besides,  mother,  I  don't  believe  the  strawberries 
will  be  gone,"  said  Posie.  "  Stephen  will  manage 
to  find  you  some." 

"  He  can't  find  what's  not  there,"  answered  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  with  severe  scorn. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Posie.  "I  am  not  sure 
about*  that.  He  always  finds  for  me  what  I  want, 
whether  it's  there  or  not." 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  said  Stephen  laughing. 
"  That  is  all  I  will  promise." 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

IN  THE  STATION  HOUSE. 

"  OTEPHEN,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook  on  the  morn- 
O  ing  of  the  sixth  of  July,  "that  young  man 
will  be  at  Deepford  by  three  or  four  o'clock  this 
afternoon;  the  railway  won't  bring  him  any  nearer; 
and  he  must  be  fetched.  I  was  going  myself,  but 
1  find  I  can't.  Two  men  are  coming  to  see  me 
precisely  this  afternoon,  and  I  must  stay  at  home 
to  meet  them." 

"  And  you  would  like  me  to  drive  over,  sir  ?  " 

"  If  you  would  be  so  good.  Somebody  must  go, 
and  it  ought  to  be  one  of  the  family." 

"  I  will  go,  sir,  with  pleasure." 

"  1  should  think  he  might ! "  said  Mrs.  Harden 
brook,  in  the  tone  of  a  commentator.  "Such  a 
drive,  in  such  weather,  and  to  fetch  such  a  person. 
Why  Stephen  will  be  the  first  one  to  see  him !  I 
wish  I  could  go  for  Erick  myself." 

"  Will  you  go,  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  ? "  Stephen 
said  laughing.  "  There  is  room  enough." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  proper,  Mr.  Kay." 

"  Why  not  ?  " — Stephen  and  Posie  cried  at  once. 


IN  THE  STATION  HOUSE. 


339 


"  A  gentleman  may  go  to  meet  a  strange  lady," 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  answered  judicially;  "but  for  a 
lady  to  go  to  meet  a  strange  gentleman  would  be 
paying  him  too  much  attention." 

"  But  he  isn't  a  strange  gentleman,"  cried  Posie. 

"  Is  he  not  your  H-ephew  ?  "  asked  Stephen. 

"  I  call  him  so ;  but  really  he  is  only  the  son  of 
my  half-sister;  and  I  haven't  seen  her  for  twenty- 
five  years.  That  makes  a  stranger  of  him,  I  should 
think." 

"/will  go  with  Stephen,"  said  Posie.  "I  will 
go  for  the  fun  of  it — not  to  shew  any  sort  of  atten 
tion  to  Mr.  Dunstable.  Will  you  take  me,  Stephen?" 

"  No,  he  will  not!"  interposed  Mrs.  Hardenbrook, 
with  her  most  impressive  accent  and  turn  of  the 
head.  "  I  am  astonished  at  you,  Posie.  Don't  you 
really  know  any  better  than  that?  What  would 
Mr.  Dunstable  think  ?  " 

"  Mother,  I  don't  care  what  he  thinks.  I  want 
the  drive;  that's  all.  There's  no  reason  why  I 
shouldn't  have  it." 

"You  will  not  have  it  to-day.  To-morrow  he 
may  take  you  himself,  for  all  I  care;  if  you  like." 

Posie  pouted  a  little,  one  of  her  pretty  pouts, 
which  never  had  any  naughtiness  in  them;  and 
Stephen  thought  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  made  an  un 
necessary  fuss  about  nothing.  However,  they  were 
all  accustomed  to  her  doing  that;  it  was  quite  in 
rule. 

The  afternoon  was  warm,  when  Stephen  set  off 
on  his  drive  of  five  or  six  miles,  and  he  had  rather 


340  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

a  sultry  time  of  it  in  his  little  open  buggy.  Ste 
phen  never  minded  it;  his  head  and  his  nerves 
were  in  capital  order,  and  whatever  came  in  the 
way  of  duty  he  was  accustomed  to  take  unques- 
tioningly;  I  might  say,  unregretfully.  He  had 
learned  that  somewhat  rarely  learned  lesson,  of 
doing  everything  to  the  Lord;  and  so,  nothing 
could  come  amiss  to  him.  It  is  a  wonderful  se 
cret  !  He  did  not  know  Faber's  words,  but  the 
truth  of  them  he  knew  well. — 

"  I  love  to  kiss  each  print  where  thou 

Hast  set  thine  unseen  feet; 
I  cannot  fear  thee,  blessed  Will  1 
Thine  empire  is  so  sweet. 

"I  know  not  what  it  is  to  doubt; 

My  heart  is  ever  gay; 
I  run  no  risk,  for  come  what  will, 
Thou  always  hast  thy  way." 

So  he  drove  along  over  the  hot  roads,  with  scarce 
a  thought  about  it  except  that  it  ivas  hot;  but  that 
was  all  in  the  way  of  business.  He  noticed  further 
in  this  connection  that  clouds  were  rising  in  the 
west,  of  that  dense  quality  which  makes  the  glint 
of  the  sun  on  their  edges  like  the  shining  of  pol 
ished  silver.  They  came  up  and  up  in  the  sky  too, 
and  Stephen  perceived  that  there  would  probably 
be  a  change  of  weather  before  he  could  get  home. 
That  was  all  in  the  day's  work  too,  and  did  not 
concern  him.  What  he  had  to  do,  was  to  bring 
Mr.  Dunstable  home;  through  what  weather  was 


IN  THE  STATION  HOUSE.  341 

not  his  affair.  When  he  reached  Deepford  station, 
however,  a  thoughtful  look  at  the  heavens  induced 
Stephen  to  find  a  shelter  for  his  horse  and  buggy 
in  the  mean  while.  There  would  be  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  yet  before  the  train  would  be  due;  and  he 
shrewdly  concluded  that  the  rain  would  be  due 
also  about  the  same  time.  He  himself  went  into 
the  station  house. 

It  was  a  poor  little  place.  Nobody  in  the  neigh 
borhood  cared  to  have  it  any  better.  The  floor  was 
not  clean;  the  wall  had  fearful  marks  of  soil  just 
where  it  had  been  touched  by  the  heads  of  the 
people  who  took  seats  on  the  waiting  settees;  above 
which  deplorable  marks  it  was  more  or  less  covered 
with  huge  maps,  which  gave  railway  lines  and  con 
nections  west  and  south,  and  with  the  advertise 
ments  of  various  business  firms  which  regulated 
the  freight  and  passage  upon  those  lines.  Not  a 
creature  was  in  the  room ;  and  Stephen  fell  to 
studying  these  maps,  half  idly  noticing  how  the 
lines  traced  a  confused  network  of  roads  across  the 
country,  and  thinking  how  bewildering  they  would 
be  to  any  stranger  who  did  not  know  them.  It 
was  quite  in  Stephen's  way  to  moralize  from  this, 
upon  the  unknown,  crossing,  seemingly  entangled 
paths  of  life.  Who  could  be  sure  of  his  course? 
who  could  know  which  would  be  the  right  course  ? 
and  a  mis-choice  might  be  fatal  and  irretrievable. 
What  shall  a  man  do  to  guard  against  such  a  dan 
ger?  And  then  came  words  into  his  mind  to 
answer  the  question. — "  In  all  thy  ways  acknowl- 


342  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

edge  Him,  and  he  shall  direct  thy  paths."  How  will 
the  direction  be  given,  I  wonder  ?  thought  Stephen. 
And  then  he  reflected  that  there  might  be  many 
means,  and  that,  for  one  thing,  the  mere  fact  and 
habit  of  acknowledging  the  Lord  in  everything  a  man 
does  would  of  itself  keep  him  from  a  great  many 
wrong  and  misleading  paths.  Then  he  remembered 
the  promise  to  the  man  that  abides  in  the  Lord's 
ways  and  lives  in  studying  his  word — "  whatsoever 
he  doeth  shall  prosper."  And  then,  the  Christian's 
warranted  confidence  in  the  good  Shepherd;  "he 
leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of  righteousness."  There 
with  it  came  to  Stephen  as  it  had  never  come 
before,  how  the  Israelites  of  old  were  led,  day 
and  night,  by  the  pillar  of  cloud  and  of  fire. 
Sometimes  one,  arid  sometimes  the  other,  said 
Stephen  to  himself;  but  it  led,  and  they  followed. 
While  the  cloud  abode  upon  the  tabernacle,  they 
staid  quiet  where  they  were;  though  it  might  well 
be  not  in  a  place  or  circumstances  that  they  would 
have  chosen.  And  "when  the  cloud  was  taken  up, 
they  journeyed."  It  might  be  but  a  few  days  in 
one  spot,  or  it  might  be  months;  they  went,  or 
they  stood  still,  at  the  command  of  their  heavenly 
Leader.  "  And  he  led  them  on  safely,  so  that  they 
feared  not." 

The  distant  whistle  of  the  train  broke  in  here 
upon  Stephen's  musings,  and  he  turned  away;  but 
with  a  singular  sweet  feeling  in  his  heart,  which 
no  doubt  unconsciously  shone  out  in  his  face. 

"  Good   day,   Mr.   Kay ! "   said   one   of  the   offi- 


IN  THE  STATION  HOUSE.  343 

cials,  meeting  him.  "  You  aint  goin'  nowheres, 
I  hope?" 

"Not  to-day,  Mr.  Simmons;  I  am  expecting  a 
friend." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it.  We  don't  never  want  to  hear 
o'  your  travellin'.  Wisht  we  hed  a  few  more  o' 
your  sort  in  this  here  place." 

"Thank  you,"  Stephen  answered,  wondering. 
"  Aren't  we  going  to  have  a  storm,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  it'll  be  a  whopper,  or  I  don't  know 
the  signs.  You  keep  under  shelter,  Mr.  Kay,  till 
it's  over,  ef  you'll  take  a  friend's  advice.  It's  get- 
tin*  'tarual  black  !  " 

The  train  came  rumbling  up,  and  Stephen  went 
out  upon  the  platform.  The  heavens  overhead 
were  very  dark,  and  thunder  beginning  to  be 
heard,  as  the  cars  came  to  a  stop.  Very  few  pas 
sengers  were  for  Deepford.  Stephen  watched  care 
fully  each  person  that  left  the  cars,  and  decided 
that  one  only  of  them  could  possibly  be  the  man  he 
was  waiting  for.  Could  this  be  he?  A  young 
man  above  his  own  age,  slight  and  well  built  at 
the  same  time,  with  a  bright  eye,  handsome  face, 
and  curly  brown  hair  pushing  out  from  under  his 
straw  hat.  That  which  for  a  moment  made  Ste 
phen  doubt  if  he  were  the  expected  visiter,  was  a 
certain  air  of  the  figure,  which  was  totally  unlike 
the  style  of  the  country  people;  and  also,  it  may  be 
said,  quite  foreign  to  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  or  her  hus 
band.  There  was  nothing  dandyish  about  him ; 
yet  his  clothes  sat  on  him  as  no  tailor  in  Deepford 


344  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

or  Whitebrook  could  make  them  to  set;  and  he  had 
an  alert,  self-possessed,  man-of-t he-world  look,  which 
struck  Stephen  at  the  first  minute.  He  did  not 
stand  and  seem  to  be  at  a  loss  either,  or  as  if  he 
were  waiting  for  anybody;  yet  Stephen  felt  it  was 
necessary  to  accost  him.  So  he  drew  near. 

"  Are  you  the  friend  Mr.  Hardenbrook  is  expect 
ing?  "  he  asked. 

The  young  man's  eye  came  quick  and  sharp  to 
him,  and  what  he  saw  I  suppose  impressed  him 
agreeably;  for  he  smiled  as  he  answered. 

"  Yes !  Has  my  aunt  a  son  ?  1  was  not  prepared 
to  expect  that." 

"Mrs.  Hardenbrook  has  no  son,"  said  Stephen. 
"I  am  not  in  the  family  in  that  capacity." 

The  other  hesitated  a  little,  looked  Stephen  over 
again,  but  not  offensively;  and  finally,  yielding  to 
the  impression  of  what  he  saw,  which  was  provo 
cative  of  confidence,  put  the  question  frankly — 

"  In  what  capacity,  then  ?  " 

"  I  might  say,  as  a  son,"  Stephen  returned  with  a 
smile ;  "  it  is  most  like  that;  only  to  the  name  I  have 
no  title.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  has  been  as  good  as  a 
father  to  me." 

"  I  see !  "  said  the  other  with  another  glance ;  only 
he  did  not  "  see."  "  And  you  have  been  so  good  as 
to  come  for  me  ?  How  far  off  are  we  ?  " 

"From  Cowslip?     About  six  miles." 

"Then  we  must  drive,  I  suppose.  Which  way 
do  we  go?" 

"  I  think,  into  the  Station  house.    Don't  you  hear 


IN  THE  STATION  HOUSE.  345 

those  growls  of  thunder  ?  the  storm  will  be  upon 
us  in  a  minute  or  two  more." 

Young  Dunstable  looked  at  the  heavens,  and  fol 
lowed  Stephen  into  the  house.  Evidently  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  And  they  were  hardly 
under  shelter  before  the  rain  came  with  a  burst, 
and  accompanied  by  very  sharp  lightning.  The 
t\vo  young  men  stood  and  looked  at  it  a  little. 
The  storm  was  a  magnificent  summer  shower,  black 
with  clouds  and  rain,  and  most  brilliant  with  the 
electric  flashes. 

"  Better  under  shelter  just  now,  certainly,"  was 
Erick's  comment,  as  he  turned  to  survey  the  place 
in  which  he  had  found  it.  And  Deepford  Station 
never  looked  much  more  dreary  than  in  the  dusk 
of  the  storm  it  did  now.  The  young  stranger  took 
the  effect,  contrasting  it,  no  doubt,  with  better  or 
dered  railway  stations  that  he  had  seen;  however 
he  was  well-bred  enough  to  keep  his  thoughts  to 
himself.  He  looked  out  again. 

"What  is  the  name  of  this  town?"  he  asked  of 
his  silent  companion.  Stephen  was  never  much  of 
a  talker,  unless  in  company  that  he  both  knew  and 
liked;  hardly  then,  although  he  could  talk.  He 
answered  Erick's  question  now  with  the  one  word, 
—"Deepford." 

"  Deepford  " — the  other  repeated.  "  In  England, 
now,  I  suppose  we  should  say,  'Deptford.'" 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why,  I'm  sure,  except,  I  suppose, 
because  we  are  an  old  people." 


346  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know,  when  one  is  young  one  is  par 
ticular;  and  when  one  is  old  one  has  found  out  that 
it  don't  pay,  and  one  takes  things  easy.  Now  in 
the  old  country  we  have  spoken  the  words  so  often 
that  we  have  come  to  speaking  them  the  shortest 
way.  They  have  been  rolled  like  stones  in  a  brook 
— till  they  have  worn  off  all  the  corners." 

Stephen  made  no  answer. 

"Now  here" — the  other  went  on,  paused,  and 
took  up  his  words  again ; — "  here,  everything  is  in 
its  first  freshness." 

Stephen  glanced  at  the  room,  they  were  in  and 
smiled. 

"  Except  this  Station  house  " — said  he. 

"Ah!"  said  the  other,  also  giving  the  smutty 
walls  and  floor  another  look, — "  why  don't  you, — 
pardon  me !  but  why  don't  you  make  a  row  about 
this,  and  have  it  different  ?  In  England  this  could 
never  be;  wouldn't  be  tolerated." 

"  Is  everything  right  in  England  ?  " 

"  I  wish  it  were !  But  in  this  sort  of  thing,  you 
see,  we  are  particular." 

Stephen  made  no  counter  remark  to  this,  and 
Mr.  Dunstable  began  to  find  his  situation  tiresome. 
Still  the  thunder  rolled  and  the  rain  poured,  as  if  it 
never  meant  to  stop. 

"  What  a  confounded  nuisance  this  storm  is !  "  he 
said  presently. 

"  Don't  say  that  of  anything  God  sends,"  Stephen 
responded  gravely. 


IN  THE  STATION  HOUSE.  347 

"  I  don't  think  He  sent  it.  I  think  there  has  been 
a  very  heated  state  of  the  atmosphere,  certain  elec 
tric  conditions  have  been  induced,  and  in  connec 
tion  with  these  and  with  the  rarefied  condition  of 
the  air,  these  clouds  have  come  up ;  and  the  electric 
fluid  is  exerting  itself  to  restore  the  disturbed  equi 
librium  of  things." 

"Those  are  what  we  call  Second  causes,"  said 
Stephen. 

"  Well,  they  exist  in  obedience  to  the  invariable 
laws  of  Nature." 

"  And  that  means,  an  expression  of  the  will  of 
God." 

"If  you  like;  but  don't  you  mean  to  say  it  is 
expressed  in  invariable  laws  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  any  Power  cannot  manage  its 
own  laws  ?  " 

"  Manage  ?     How  do  you  mean  ?  destroy  them  ?  " 

"  No ;  work  by  means  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how,  if  they  are  invariable." 

"  Do  you  study  your  Bible,  Mr.  Dunstable  ?  " 

The  young  man  laughed  a  little.  "  I  never  had 
any  one  ask  me  that,"  he  said,  "  since  I  was  a  boy 
and  had  a  Sunday  school  teacher." 

Stephen  did  not  repeat  the  question.  But  after 
a  minute  or  two,  Dunstable  spoke  again. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  now  ?  " 

"  You  asked  me  how,  if  God's  laws  are  invariable, 
he  could  manage  to  do  his  will  with  them." 

"  Yes.  Well  ?  That  always  seems  to  me  a  hard 
nut  to  crack." 


348  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"I  was  thinking,  that  God  must  know  better 
about  it  than  human  sense  can;  and  doubting 
whether  you  knew  what  he  says  on  the  subject." 

Dunstable  looked  a  little  hard  at  his  companion, 
half  amused,  half  doubtful  what  sort  of  a  creature 
was  this.  Stephen's  manner  was  cool,  he  was  not 
pressing  anything;  he  had  not  the  look  of  an  in 
cipient  preacher.  Erick  grew  curious,  but  more 
about  Stephen  himself  than  about  the  subject  of  his 
conversation. 

"No — "  he  said  carelessly, — "  I  do  not  remember 
anything  in  the  Bible  which  throws  any  light  on 
this  matter.  Is  there  anything  ?  " 

"About  the  facts;  not  about  the  'how'  of  the 
facts." 

"  Well,  what  about  the  facts  ?  "  inquired  Erick, 
with  another  glance  at  the  thick-pouring  rain. 

"  '  Are  not  two  sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing  ?  and 
one  of  them  shall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without 
your  Father.' " 

"  And  you  think  that  means — ?  " 

"What  it  says." 

"Then  you  think,  if  a  boy  throws  a  stick  and 
brings  down  a  bird  from  a  bush, — you  think  that 
God  has  done  it?  It  seems  to  me  it  is  the  boy's 
affair." 

"  I  have  told  you  what  the  Bible  says,"  Stephen 
replied  quietly.  "I  am  not  going  to  defend  the 
truth  of  it." 

"  Does  your  case  rest  upon  that  one  word  ?  " 

"No,  but  it  might.     Christ  said   that  heaven 


IN  THE  STATION  HOUSE.  349 

and  earth  would  pass  away,  but  not  one  of  bis 
words." 

"Of  course;  but  that  is,  according  to  the  truth 
of  them." 

"The  truth  is,  that  'by  him  all  things  consist;' 
and  that  he  'upholds  all  things  by  the  word  of  his 
power.' " 

"  '  All  things,' — "  said  Erick;  "yes,  but  not  every 
pitiful  little  detail.  That  is  to  me  inconceivable." 

"  What  are  pitiful  little  details  ?"  said  Stephen. 
"  I  don't  believe  there  are  any  such  things." 

"  A  sparrow  that  is  worth  half  a  farthing." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  of  no  use  in  the  world  ?  " 

"Help  feed  a  sparrow-hawk,  I  suppose,"  said 
Erick,  "if  the  boy  did  not  knock  it  down  first." 

"  I  have  read  somewhere,"  Stephen  went  on,  "that 
if  Napoleon  had  only  known  of  a  certain  hollow 
way  on  the  battle-ground  of  Waterloo,  he  would 
not  have  lost  the  battle." 

"Ah?     I  never  heard  that  before." 

"  His  horse  in  their  great  charge  plunged  into 
that  hollow  way,  one  rank  after  another,  not  know 
ing  it  was  there;  till  their  bodies,  and  their  horses, 
had  filled  it  up;  but  by  that  time  the  charge  was 
broken.  Yet  if  you  had  seen  the  workmen  digging 
out  that  road,  some  time  long  before,  I  suppose  you 
would  have  said  it  was  a  very  trifling  detail  as  con 
cerned  the  world's  history. — I  think  the  rain  is  be 
ginning  to  slacken." 

No  doubt  it  was;  and  quick  as  the  storm  had 
come  up,  it  passed  away;  lesser  and  lesser  grew 


350  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

the  rainfall ;  the  light  changed  from  its  dusty  grey 
and  took  more  and  more  colour  from  the  sun ;  till 
at  last  the  curtain  of  cloud  was  reft  and  the  sun 
shine  poured  through  like  a  golden  mist  and  filled 
the  earth.  The  two  young  men  gladly  quitted 
their  grimy  waiting  place;  Stephen  brought  out 
his  horse  and  buggy,  and  they  set  out  upon  their 
way  home. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

EKICK. 

IT  was  an  enchanting  drive.  The  sun  low,  send 
ing  its  bright  rays  through  the  raindrops  which 
hung  upon  the  grass  and  the  tree  branches ;  glinting 
from  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  making  banks 
of  brown  earth  and  rocks  to  look  royal  purple  or 
glittering  grey;  everything  was  in  a  glow  and  a 
sparkle  and  a  sheen  that  were  like  a  kind  of  day 
light  illumination;  and  in  place  of  the  sultriness 
that  had  filled  all  the  morning  and  noontide,  there 
was  now  a  cool  freshness  and  life  in  the  air  which 
made  it  nectar.  Erick  said  so. 

"  What  is  nectar  ?  "  inquired  Stephen  innocently. 

Erick  gave  a  glance  of  new  wonderment  at  his 
companion.  In  all  the  beauty  he  was  enjoying,  he 
had  by  no  means  forgotten  the  talk  that  went  be 
fore,  nor  his  curiosity  about  his  fellow  talker.  Now 
he  looked  at  Stephen  in  fresh  doubt  and  surprise. 

"Nectar?"  he  repeated;  "don't  you  remember, 
it  was  the  drink  of  the  old  gods  of  Olympus  ?  " 

"Jupiter  and  Juno,  and  the  rest  of  them?" 

"Yes.  Of  course  it  was  something  more  deli 
cious  than  what  mortals  get." 


352  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"I  never  read  ranch  about  those  fellows;  and  I 
never  heard  of  nectar." 

"It  wasn't  better  than  this  air,"  said  Erick,  fill- 
ing  his  lungs  with  it. 

"It  is  good  air  we  have  here  up  in  Cowslip," 
Stephen  remarked. 

"  I  have  been  puzzling  myself  about  you,"  Erick 
began  again  pleasantly,  after  a  few  minutes.  "Are 
you  studying  ?  " 

"Studying?  No;  I  have  not  much  time  for 
that.  Studying  what,  do  you  mean  ?  I  study  my 
business." 

"I  meant,"  said  Erick  in  a  somewhat  apologetic 
tone, — "I  was  questioning  whether  you  were 
studying  for  the  ministry  ?  " 

"  I  ?     0  no  !  " 

"  But  you  talked  to  me  a  little  while  ago,  as  if — 
Well,  I  thought  maybe  you  were  preparing  to  be  a 
preacher.  You  seem  to  know  so  much  of  the  Bible, 
you  see." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  preach,"  said  Stephen  smil 
ing.  "You  must  have  thought  me  a  nuisance,  I 
am  afraid.  But  the  Bible — everybody  is  bound  to 
know  what  that  says." 

"  But  everybody  don't." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  How  come  you  to  be  different?  " 

"Well,  I  am  very  fond  of  studying  the  Bible." 

"  You  spoke  just  now  as  if  it  were  something  be 
sides  a  pleasure — which  may  be  a  matter  of  taste. 
You  said,  everybody  is  bound  ?  " 


ERICK.  353 

14  So  he  is,"  said  Stephen,  "  unless  he  would  run 
a  blind  course,  and  come  to  a  fool's  end  of  it." 

"  You  are  at  your  preaching  again,"  said  Erick 
laughing  good-humouredly.  "  I  think  you  will  be  a 
clergyman  yet  before  you  die." 

"I  am  not  preaching,"  said  Stephen.  "I  am 
only  doing  the  work  of  a  finger  post." 

"But  then,  to  do  that  effectively,"  said  Erick, 
"in  the  realm  of  ethics,  one  must  be  accredited. 
i  think  you  should  take  orders."  • 

"  From  whom  ?  "  asked  Stephen  quickly. 

"  I  mean,  go  into  orders,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Stephen, 
"I  take  my  orders  from  God;  from  no  one  else." 

"  That  sounds  very  American !  " 

"Why  so?" 

"In  the  older  country  everybody  takes  orders 
from  some  authority  that  nevertheless  is  only  hu 
man.  Children  obey  their  parents — at  least  they 
are  supposed  to  do  so ;  and  apprentices  obey  their 
masters,  and  servants  obey  their  masters,  and  no 
'suppose'  about  it." 

"So  would  I,"  replied  Stephen;  "but  that  is  all 
included  in  what  I  said." 

"Is  it?" 

"  Certainly.  You  cannot  obey  the  Bible,  without 
doing  all  that." 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  Bible  man  in  my  life,"  said 
Erick  looking  at  him.  "You  fall  back  upon  it 
from  every  point." 

"Ay,"  said  Stephen;  "you  must,  or  it' will  fall 


354  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

upon  you.  Do  you  see  that  clump  of  elms  yon 
der  ?  That's  our  place ;  you  will  see  the  house  and 
factory  presently;  they  are  just  among  them." 

Erick  made  no  further  remark  till  Stephen  drew 
rein  before  the  house.  One  or  two  other  vehicles 
stood  in  the  road  and  prevented  the  buggy  from 
coming  quite  to  the  door. 

"  Visiters,  I  see,"  said  Stephen.  "  We  do  not 
often  have  two  sets  at  once." 

"  Do  not  let  me  be  a  third  !  "  said  Erick.  "  Can't 
you  take  me  in  and  let  me  get  to  my  room  can- 
nily,  without  meeting  anybody?  I'll  get  rid  of 
my  dust  in  the  mean  time — the  road  was  awfully 
dusty — and  be  more  fit  to  make  my  appearance 
decently." 

"  If  you  don't  care  which  way  you  go  in," — said 
Stephen;  and  he  turned  and  drove  back  to  the 
great  gate  of  the  courtyard  which  they  had  passed. 
So  it  fell  out  that  Erick  entered  the  house  by  the 
same  door  which  had  first  admitted  himself,  and 
into  the  same  room.  Jonto  was  there  as  usual, 
busy  roasting  coffee.  She  stood  up,  and  looked 
through  the  blue  haze  of  the  coffee  smoke  at  the 
stranger  coming  in ;  but  she  said  nothing  till  Ste 
phen,  having  led  Erick  to  his  room,  presently  re 
turned  alone. 

"  What  you  done  wid  dat  man  ?  "  she  asked  then 
abruptly. 

"Shewn  him  to  his  room.  That  is  Mr.  Dun- 
stable." 

u  Duns'tle  ?  de  man  what  you  done  gone  fetch 


ERICK.  355 

from  de  railroad?  What  for  don't  you  take  him 
in  to  see  de  folks  ?  " 

"  He's  dusty." 

Jonto  gave  a  long  look  at  Stephen,  and  then 
with  a  most  indescribable  grunt  turned  to  her  pan 
of  coffee.  No  uninitiated  person  could  have  guessed 
what  it  meant ;  but  Stephen  smiled  as  he  went  out 
again  to  look  after  his  horse. 

He  was  a  little  curious,  himself,  about  the  new 
comer,  and  so.  made  no  delay  in  getting  through 
what  he  had  to  do.  He  paid  nevertheless  a  trine 
more  attention  than  usual  to  his  own  appearance 
before  he  went  to  the  family  room.  The  Ajisiters 
had  gone;  Erick  was  not  yet  there.  Stephen  was 
immediately  pounced  upon  by  both  ladies  to  make 
him  tell  what  he  knew,  and  declare  his  impressions. 
Stephen  avowed  he  could  not  know  what  a  man 
was  at  first  sight. 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  him  ? "  cried  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook.  "Now /always  know  what  a  per 
son  is  at  once  and  I  am  never  deceived.  I  shall 
know  as  soon  as  he  comes  in." 

"Here  he  comes  then" — said  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
and  the  stranger  entered  as  he  spoke.  Stephen  was 
a  little  struck.  He  had  seen  already  that  the  guest's 
appearance  was  prepossessing;  he  had  never  im 
agined  that  getting  rid  of  a  little,  or  of  a  good  deal, 
of  dust  could  make  such  a  difference  in  anybody. 
There  was  no  foppishness  about  Erick;  it  was  not 
that;  but  his  dress  looked  so  gracefully  cool  and 
neat,  his  brown  curly  hair  shewed  such  glossy 


356  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

abundance  in  such  excellent  order,  and  his  manner 
was  so  quietly  easy  and  confident,  with  the  smooth 
ease  of  a  man  of  the  world,  that  Stephen's  eyes 
were  fascinated.  So  were  all  the  other  eyes;  and 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  half  rose  from  her  sofa  with  a 
most  gracious  air  of  welcome  and  pleasure. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Dunstable!"  she  said,  giving 
that  inevitable  air  of  the  head,  a  little  to  one  side, 
and  a  twist  of  the  mouth  corresponding.  It  was 
all  emphasis,  although  what  might  be  called  wry 
emphasis;  even  to  the  accent,  which  she  place; I 
oddly  on  the  last  word,  as  if  she  were  correcting 
somebody's  mispronunciation  of  it. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  be  '  Mr.  Dunstable,' " 
said  Erick;  and  he  stooped  and  kissed  his  aunt  with 
the  easiest  air  in  the  world.  "  Don't  you  welcome 
me  as  one  of  the  family,  aunt  Maria?" 

"  I  have  always  thought  of  you  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  with  a  quiver  of  gratification;  "but 
you  know  it  takes  time  for  people  to  feel  at  home 
with  each  other.  Here  is  your  cousin—" 

The  inclination  of  the  lady's  head  and  the  direc 
tion  of  her  eyes  indicated  Posie,  who  was  however 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace.  "  Now  if  he  is 
going  to  keep  that  sort  of  thing  up!"  —  thought 
Stephen;  but  Erick  did  not  attempt  it.  He  bowed 
very  low  over  Posie's  hand,  with  a  manner  of  pro 
found  respect;  that  was  all. 

"May  I  not  know  my  cousin's  name?"  he  asked, 
turning  again  to  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 

"  Her  name  !     0  her  name's  Posie.     My  husband, 


ERICK.  357 

Mr.  Dunstable! — and  now  you  know  all  the  family, 
for  Stephen  brought  you  over.  Did  you  get  wet 
in  the  storm  ?  " 

Erick  sat  down  by  his  hostess,  and  began  a  talk 
with  heron  the  insignificant  little  topics  with  which 
people  are  wont  to  feel  their  way  to  something  else; 
if  anything  else  lies  in  the  possibilities  of  the  case. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  took  up  a  paper  that  Stephen 
had  brought  him  from  Deepford.  The  other  two 
for  a  little  while  sat  and  listened  to  what  the 
talkers  were  saying. 

"  Stephen" — whispered  Eosie  at  length,  when  this 
had  gone  on  for  some  time, — "  I  now  and  then  wish 
father  would  quit  Cowslip,  and  move  nearer  to 
Boston  somewhere." 

She  spoke  in  a  low  aside,  arid  Stephen  answered 
in  the  same  way — "Why?  " 

11  Then  perhaps  mother  would  get  to  speak  like 
other  people." 

Stephen's  eyes  expressed  only  mute  bewilder 
ment. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Stephen ! "  ex 
claimed  Posie  half  laughing.  "  Don't  you  know 
how  she  puts  her  accents  sometimes?  In  Boston 
they  don't  do  it  so." 

"How  do  they  do  it?  I  should  think  you  would 
like  her  way,  just  because  it  is  hers." 

"  Not  if  it  isn't  the  right  way.  You  do  not  like 
wrong  things,  Stephen,  no  matter  who  does  them." 

"This  is  nothing  morally  wrong,"  Stephen  an 
swered  with  a  smile. 


358  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Would  you  like  a  table  that  stood  crooked  ?  " 
said  Posie  impatiently. — "What  is  it,  mamma?" 
For  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  was  calling  to  her. 

"I  want  you  to  hear  what  your  cousin  is  saying. 
He  is  telling  me  of  his  having  been  to  India." 

"  To  India  !  "  exclaimed  Posie. 

"Yes,  to  India;  just  think  of  that!  and  it  took 
him  months  to  get  there;  months!" 

"  Wasn't  it  dreadfully  tiresome  ?" 

"  Not  very,  on  the  whole,"  said  Erick.  "  Travel 
ling  isn't  the  worst  thing  a  man  can  do." 

"But  so  long  on  the  ship," — said  Posie;  "so  long 
without  seeing  land." 

"  Not  exactly  that;  we  did  see  land  several  times. 
At  Cape  Town,  we  made  some  little  stay." 

"  Cape  Town  ?  "  repeated  Posie,  —  "  where  is 
that  ?  " 

"  Cape  of  Good  Hope  " — whispered  Stephen. 

"  Cape  of  Good  Hope  ?  "  said  Posie  looking  at  her 
prompter.  "0  yes!  I  remember.  How  stupid! 
But  I  was  so  far  just  then  from  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope.  0  what  sort  of  a  place  is  that,  Mr.  Dun- 
stable?  It  never  seems  to  me  any  sort  of  a 
place." 

"It  is  not,  compared  with  any  sort  of  a  place 
that  you  ever  saw.  I  do  not  think  you  would  like 
it  much.  Perhaps  you  would  have  liked  to  stand 
for  a  little  while  where  I  stood,  one  day,  on  the 
top  of  Table  Mountain." 

"Why  would  I  have  liked  to  stand  there?  "  Posie 
asked. 


ERICK.  359 

"  For  the  wonderful  view." 

"  What  did  you  see  V  " 

"That  which  impressed  me  most  was  the  great 
stretch  of  waters;  the  miles  and  miles  of  ocean  I 
could  look  over." 

"  Well,  really,  I  should  think,"  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
put  in  here,  "  after  seeing  nothing  but  sea  for  so 
many  months,  it  would  be  hardly  worth  while  to 
climb  a  mountain  to  see  more  of  it." 

"It  is  something,  to  have  been  there,  you  know," 
said  Erick  smiling. 

"  And  always,  something  to  say  you  have  been 
there," — remarked  Mr.  Hardenbrook. 

"Certainly,  sir !  I  plead  guilty."  Erick  laughed 
very  pleasantly  as  he  spoke ;  and  there  was  but  one 
opinion  in  the  room  by  this  time,  that  he  was  a 
very  agreeable  young  man.  I  don't  know;  perhaps 
he  knew  it;  and  it  helped  him  to  be  yet  more  pleas 
ant.  He  went  on  to  tell  of  his  further  voyage,  and 
of  his  arrival  off  Madras,  and  the  terrible  surf,  and 
the  landing  in  catamarans.  Posie  left  her  place 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hearth  and  came  nearer 
her  mother  and  the  speaker. 

"  Wasn't  it  terrible  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  thought  it  good  fun.  I  dare  say  you  would 
not  have  liked  it,"  Erick  said  meeting  her  question 
ing  eyes.  And  he  told  them  then  of  his  journey 
overland  to  Calcutta;  of  his  adventures;  of  what 
he  saw;  the  country,  the  people,  their  dwellings 
and  their  mode  of  life.  There  was  no  end  to  the 
interesting  details,  and  no  exhausting  the  eager 


360  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

curiosity  of  those  to  whom  he  gave  them.  Erick 
yielded  to  the  pressure  and  gratified  it,  unwear- 
iedly;  yet  he  did  not  try  to  put  himself  for 
ward;  he  did  not  try  to  usurp  the  conversation, 
nor  to  play  the  distinguished  traveller.  He  was 
simply  good  natured  and  well  bred,  and  quite  nat 
urally  and  unassumingly  did  what  his  new  friends 
wished  him  to  do ;  for  their  sakes,  not  for  his  own 
pleasure.  We  all  know  how  success  reproduces 
success;  and  no  doubt  the  consciousness  that  he 
was  making  a  very  good  impression  helped  Erick 
and  stimulated  him  to  make  the  impression  the 
very  best  possible.  I  think  that  was  what  he 
did. 

"  That  must  be  the  most  wonderful  country  in 
the  world ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  when 
Erick  had  come  to  a  pause,  late  in  the  evening. 

"  0  no ! "  said  the  young  man  lightly.  "  It  is  only 
because  it  is  new  to  you.  I  dare  say  you  could 
shew  me  things  here,  in  America,  that  to  me  would 
appear  quite  as  wonderful." 

"  I  suppose  to  a  Hindoo  it  all  would,"  remarked 
Stephen. 

"Exactly  so.  There  isn't  a  thing  we  do,  but 
they  do  it  differently,  or  do  something  else." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  wife,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
"  I  should  like  to  shew  our  young  friend  something 
worth  seeing  on  our  side  of  the  ocean.  Suppose 
we  all  make  a  little  journey  to  Niagara  by  and  by  ? 
Hey  ?  how  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  declared,  with  emphatic  gest- 


ERICK. 


361 


ures  of  the  head,  that  she  should  like  it  particularly. 
Posie  clasped  her  hands  with  delight. 

"Then  we'll  do  it,"  said  her  father.  "We'll  do 
it.  That's  settled.  Next  month,  I  guess;  they  say, 
when  it  is  hottest  is  the  best  time." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    SCKEEN. 

OTEPHEN,  as  he  passed  to  his  room  rather  late 
v_)  in  the  evening,  found  Jonto  still  up.  He  had 
never  changed  his  quarters,  though  it  had  been 
several  times  proposed  by  Mr.  Hardenbrook;  and 
was  inhabiting  now  the  same  little  room  above  the 
kitchen  which  Jonto  had  been  instructed  to  prepare 
for  him  the  first  night  he  came. 

"  Well,"  said  Jonto,  "  you're  a  heap  late,  aint  you, 
to-night?" 

"A  little  late,  Jonto." 

"What  sort  o'  a  new  bird  ha'  you  got  in  de 
house  now  ?  " 

"Good,  I  guess,"  said  Stephen.  "He's  one  of 
that  kind  of  birds  that  fly  about  a  good  deal." 

"An'  keep  a  screechin',  to  let  you  know  it?" 

"0  no,"  said  Stephen,  laughing  a  little;  "noth 
ing  of  the  sort,  Jonto.  He  has  seen  a  great  deal, 
and  of  course  he  has  a  great  deal  to  tell.  He  tells 
it  very  nicely,  too,  when  he  is  asked." 

Jonto  grunted,  which  was  with  her  generally 
the  sign  of  some  inward  displeasure  or  private 

protest. 

(362) 


THE  SCREEN.  363 

"  There's  two  ways  o'  seein' " — she  remarked. 

"More  than  two,"  said  Stephen.  "What  then, 
Jon  to?" 

"  I'll  bet  you  done  seen  more  in  your  life  'n  he 
has,  ef  he  has  flew  roun'  some." 

Stephen  was  amused.  "  That  would  be  very 
strange,"  he  said;  "seeing  that  Mr.  Dunstable  has 
been  all  over  the  world,  and  I  have  never  stirred 
a  step  from  home." 

"Dere's  mo'  inside  o'  t'ings  den  de  outsides," 
Jonto  went  on  oracularly. 

"Well?  what  then?" 

"  Dere  aint  a  fool  but  what  he  kin  see  de  outside," 
said  Jonto.  "  Don't  t'ink  not'ing  o'  dat  ar.  Kin't 
help  it.  Don't  make  no  count  o'  dat.  But  to  see 
through  de  outside — 'clar,  dat  takes  a  right  smart 
pair  o'  eyes,  it  do;  and  a  head." 

Stephen  laughed,  half  divining  the  old  woman's 
meaning;  into  which  he  made  no  further  inquiry, 
however,  but  went  on  up  to  his  own  little  room. 
And  there,  for  almost  the  first  time  in  his  life,  after 
he  had  lain  down,  he  kept  awake  thinking,  instead 
of  going  to  sleep.  He  went  over  in  mind  the  talk 
of  the  evening,  and  his  imagination  brought  up 
anew  one  after  another  scene  of  Erick's  adventures. 
Somehow  his  imagination  was  very  busy.  The 
wide  spread  sea  with  its  rolling  billows,  the  Ma 
dras  surf  and  the  catamarans,  jungles,  tiger  hunts, 
elephants  and  howdahs,  bamboo  growths  of  beauty; 
the  dark,  quick,  supple,  subtle,  degraded  and  ele 
vated,  people  of  that  far-away  land,  with  their  idols 


364  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

a.nd  their  superstitions  and  their  misery  of  igno 
rance;  all  these  images  and  a  thousand  more  danced 
through  Stephen's  brain,  and  he  could  not  sleep. 
Why  could  he  not  sleep?  Certainly  he  had  read  of 
these  things,  or  of  many  of  them,  before.  But  that 
was  different  from  hearing  the  living  voice  of  the 
Jiving  person  who  had  seen  and  moved  among 
them.  They  came  home  now  to  Stephen  as  vivid 
realities.  Still  he  did  not  know  why  they  should 
come  so  as  to  hinder  his  sleeping;  there  would 
be  time  enough  to  think  of  them  to-morrow.  He 
was  wide  awake,  and  lay  uneasily  staring  at  the 
moonlight  which  came  in  at  his  open  window 
along  with  the  warm  still  air,  soft  and  soothing 
and  delicious.  Stephen  was  not  soothed,  as  I  said, 
but  restless;  and  did  not  know  why  he  was  rest 
less.  Was  it  not  a  good  thing  to  go  about  the 
world  so  ?  to  enlarge  knowledge  by  the  use  of 
one's  own  senses,  instead  of  taking  it  at  hear 
say?  Was  not  a  man  worth  more  and  able  for 
more,  who  had  not  sat  in  a  corner  all  his  life  and 
limited  his  experience  to  one  set  of  people  and  one 
sort  of  business  ?  Were  there  not  stores  of  learn 
ing,  vast  and  varied,  that  one  could  not  acquire  at 
Cowslip?  and  was  it  not  good  to  have  the  power, 
as  Erick  Dunstable  evidently  had,  of  using  other 
languages  besides  one's  own,  both  for  reading  and 
speaking?  Must  it  not  enlarge  and  enrich  the 
mind,  and  qualify  one  for  a  higher  mental  exist 
ence?  In  a  word,  had  not  he,  Stephen,  been  all 
nis  life  going  round  and  round  in  a  half  bushel 


THE  SCREEN.  365 

measure,  while  others  of  his  brother  men  roamed 
the  wide  world  ? 

The  course  of  Stephen's  thoughts  brought  him 
thus  far  without  his  being  conscious  of  what  sort 
they  were  or  whither  they  tended;  but  as  soon  as 
he  was  aware  that  they  had  passed  from  the  ab 
stract  to  the  concrete,  Stephen  pulled  himself  up. 
\Yas  there,  possibly,  a  little  stir  of  discontent  under 
lying  all  these  lucubrations?  What  if  Erick'  had 
roamed  the  world,  he  and  hundreds  of  others,  and 
Stephen  had  made  his  rounds,  figuratively  speak 
ing,  in  a  bushel?  what  then,  if  the  bushel  limited 
his  sphere  of  action  and  at  the  same  time  gave  him 
enough  to  do  ?  Who  appointeth  to  the  moon  her 
seasons,  and  to  the  sun  his  going  down,  and  "  to 
every  man  his  work  "  ?  Should  he  wish  his  work 
other  than  it  was?  Doubtless,  the  manufacturing 
of  tables  and  chairs  was  not  the  most  exalted  line 
of  human  activity;  but  if  it  were  the  one  given  to 
him? — should  he  quarrel  with  it?-  The  words  came 
back  to  him  that  he  had  thought  of  in  the  Station 
house;  "in  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  Him ;  he  shall 
direct  thy  paths."  Had  He  not  done  so?  Who 
had  brought  the  orphan  boy's  feet  to  the  place 
where  he  met  his  benefactor,  long  ago  ?  who  had 
given  him  ever  since  an  easy  way  and  a  thriving 
career  ?  And  friends,  and  opportunities  ?  And 
what  if  the  career  were  an  undistinguished  one, 
and  the  way  unmarked  by  brilliance,  if  it  were  the 
way  and  held  the  work  for  which  he  was  ap 
pointed?  Stephen  came  back  to  his  moorings  sud- 


36G  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

derily.  He  wanted  no  other  way,  desired  no  other 
work,  than  that  which  God  should  give  him.  Sure 
ly  the  Captain  knows  where  he  can  best  use  his 
men,  and  the  Master  knows  what  it  will  best  serve 
him  to  have  his  servants  do;  and  the  servant  and 
the  soldier  in  the  nature  of  the  case  cannot  know. 
The  only  chance  for  them  to  find  their  most  fitting 
service,  is  to  let  the  Lord  place  them,  and  so  to  fol 
low  his  lead  unquestioningly.  And  to  employ  an 
other  figure, — the  child  knows  his  Father  can  take 
the  best  care  of  him ;  and  to  do  his  Father's  will  is 
a  loving  child's  most  supreme  desire.  Stephen 
came  back  to  his  moorings;  gave  up  his  question* 
ings  of  Providence;  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep; 
and  never,  so  far  as  I  know,  took  up  the  burden  of 
such  thoughts  again  for  the  matter  of  five  minutes 
during  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 

The  next  time  he  saw  the  new  guest  of  the  fam 
ily  was  not  until  evening  of  the  following  day. 
Business  had  claimed  all  Stephen's  minutes  ever 
since  the  morning;  his  breakfast  had  been  eaten 
before  anybody  else  was  astir,  and  dinner  time  saw 
him  at  a  distance  from  home.  Nevertheless  it  was 
Stephen  and  nobody  else,  who  drove  late  in  the  day 
to  Deepford  to  fetch  Erick's  boxes.  "  Of  course, "- 
as  anybody  would  have  said  who  knew  Stephen; 
little  as  it  would  have  been  "  of  course"  in  the  case 
of  most  other  people.  He  arrived  with  the  boxes 
rather  late,  and  found  the  family  at  supper. 

Mrs.   Hardenbrook  silently  gave  him  his  cup  of 
tea ;  but  Posie  asked  where  he  had  been  all  day  ? 


'o  Chester  and  Fair  Mountain; — lastly,  to  Deep- 

n 

)eepford  !     Did  you  give  order  about  my  lug- 
?"  asked  Erick. 

^"o;  but  I  brought  it  home  with  me." 

?hat   was   uncommonly    good   of  you.     Is   it 

?" 

Dodged  safe  in  your  room." 

)h  thanks  !     I'm  sorry  you  should  have  had  so 

i  trouble." 

)id  you  go  to  Deepford  on  purpose,  Stephen  ?  " 

Posie,  pushing  her  inquiries, 
had  business  there,"  said  Stephen  dryly.     But 

yes  met  Posie's. 

that's  just  like  you!"  she  exclaimed.     "That 

^ood  of  you,  Stephen." 

t  is  only  what  any  one  would  do,  with  a  sense 

opriety,"  observed  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 

Jpon  my  word,"  said  Erick,  "  I  think  a  sense 

opriety  would  be  satisfied  with  sending  a  man 
the  things.     I  am  very  much  obliged." 
was  afraid  of  some  blunder,"  said  Stephen. 

bserved  there  were  a  number  of  pieces;  and 

not  every  one  that  can  count  baggage." 
should  excuse  myself  for  bringing  such  a  lot 

ash  into  your  house,  aunt  Maria ;  but  my  ex- 
is,  that  a  good  deal  of  it  is  for  you  and  my 

in  Posie." 


368  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Trash !— "  cried  Posie. 

"Trash,  in  its  present  boxed-up  condition.  If 
aunt  Maria  will  let  me,  we  will  unbox  some  of  it 
after  tea.  Could  1  bring  a  packing  case  in  here  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  looked  doubtful,  but  Posie 
clapped  her  hands,  with  such  expressions  of  delight 
that  her  mother  was  fain  to  give  in.  So  after  sup 
per  Stephen's  services  were  put  in  requisition  again ; 
and  he  and  Erick  brought  into  the  garden  room  a 
sizeable  packing  case,  with  sundry  cabalistic  marks 
upon  it  in  black  and  red  paint,  telling  of  various 
travel  about  the  world.  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  his 
wife,  and  Posie,  gathered  round  it,  curious  every 
one  of  them. 

"  I  thought,  aunt  Maria,"  said  Erick,  as  he  and 
Stephen  knocked  off  the  boards  of  the  cover, — "  I 
thought  I  would  bring  you,  if  I  could,  something 
you  had  never  seen  before.  I  did  not  know,  to  be 
sure,  how  widely  your  knowledge  of  men  and  things 
might  extend ; — but  I  hoped  you  would  not  be  famil 
iar  with  China  and  Japan." 

"  Japan  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  while  Posie 
in  similar  tones  exclaimed,  "China!  Does  that 
box  come  from  there,  cousin  ?  " 

"  Not  the  box,  but  the  things  in  it — some  of  them." 

*'  0  delightful !  "  cried  Posie.  "  Now  we  shall  see 
a  real  thing  from  China  !  " 

"Why  you  foolish  creature,"  said  her  mother, 
"  the  cups  you  have  just  been  drinking  your  tea 
out  of,  came  from  China." 

"  From  India — "  said  Erick  looking  up. 


THE  SCREEN.  369 

"  India !     Aren't  they  china  cups  ?  " 

"Certainly,  and  beautiful;  but  they  were  not 
made  in  China." 

"  It  always  seems  to  me  they  were  made  in  Bos 
ton,"  said  Posie;  while  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  looked 
incredulous  and  a  little  put  out.  The  attention  of 
both  however  was  immediately  riveted  on  the  box, 
where  Erick  was  now  uncovering  some  large  object 
with  great  care,  and  >then  with  Stephen's  help  lift 
ing  it  out.  A  large,  tall  and  narrow,  thin  object; 
from  which  paper  after  paper  had  to  be  cleared 
away. 

"  I  can — not  imagine"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  em 
phatically,  "what  you  possibly  have  got  there." 

"  A  picture — "  said  Posie. 

But  without  speaking  Erick  finished  uncovering 
and  unfolding  the  object,  which  then  proved  to  be 
a  screen.  It  had  three  panels,  which  displayed  a 
field  of  varied  but  very  subdued  hues  of  colour;  the 
eye  receiving  at  first  only  a  general  impression  of 
olives  and  browns  and  dark  purple  tints,  with  a 
shimmer  of  gold  through  and  over  the  whole. 
Dark  olive  was  the  prevailing  hue,  unless  you 
took  another  angle  of  vision,  and  then  the  whole 
seemed  to  be  dull  gold.  The  two  ladies  looked  at 
it  in  silence,  somewhat  blank.  Posie  was  evidently 
in  doubt  what  to  think.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  face 
was  a  study,  for  its  discomfiture.  She  was  in  no 
doubt. 

"  That  is  from  Japan," — said  Erick,  in  a  tone  of 
satisfaction  which  was  in  comical  contrast. 


370  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"And  that  is  Japan  fashion,  I  presume?"  said 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 

"Certainly." 

"  I  should  think  they  must  have  an  odd  way  of 
doing  things  in  Japan  !  " 

"The  very  oddest.  Nothing  there  is  like  things 
with  us.  See  these  figures,  now !  " 

"  Why  didn't  they  make  it  all  of  a  piece,  each 
side,  I  mean  ?  There  are  four  patterns  in  each  side 
• — each  leaf  of  the  screen;  four  changes." 

"Japanese — "  said  Erick;  "that  is  all  you  can 
say.  Where  they  got  their  ways  of  doing  things, 
I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell." 

"  That  upper  piece  looks  like  patchwork,"  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  went  on,  surveying  the  screen  more 
nearly.  "  Only  such  shaped  patches!  Just  look  here 
Posie;  look  here!  In  this  little  upper  part  of  one 
side  of  the  screen  there  are  eight  different  patterns 
— like  different  bits  of  cloth,  or  chintz,  joined  to 
gether  ;  only,  do  see  the  shape  of  the  bits !  Jagged, 
and  three-cornered,  and  no  two  of  them  alike.  I 
never  saw  anything  like  it  in  all  my  life !  The  very 
spots  are  cut  in  two." 

"And  here's  a  monkey  down  here  I"  cried  Posie, 
— "down  here  in  the  third  quarter." 

"  Yes;  you  see  he  is  in  a  sort  of  jungle  or  thicket 
of  leaves  and  fruit;  having  a  good  time." 

"  Horrid  looking  creature  !  "  said  the  lady. 

"It's  very  curious !"  said  Stephen.  "And  very 
handsome." 

Nobody  replied  to  that;  and  Erick,  perhaps  guess- 


THE  SCREEN.  371 

ing  that  his  screen  had  failed  to  make  any  very 
distinguished  impression,  turned  to  the  packing 
case  again,  and  with  much  caution  drew  forth  and 
unwrapped  another  object,  much  smaller  than  the 
screen.  The  floor  began  to  be  strewn  with  papers 
and  straws;  however,  nobody  heeded  that. 

"This,"  said  Erick,  "is  a  teapot.  And  there's 
a  lamp  stand  for  it  somewhere — " 

He  rummaged  again  in  the  box  and  found  the 
stand.  When  put  together,  teapot  arid  lampr  stand, 
the  whole  made  a  very  elegant  little  arrangement. 
Teapot  and  stand  were  both,  apparently,  of  metal; 
looking  dark  like  bronze,  but  lustrous;  the  teapot, 
nevertheless,  as  Erick  made  them  observe,  was  por 
celain-lined.  There  was  no  denying  admiration  to 
this  specimen  of  Japanese  work. 

"  But  what  is  all  this  concern  for  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook,  indicating  the  lamp. 

"That  is  for  alcohol." 

"  What  has  alcohol  to  do  ?  " 

"  Make  a  fire,  to  boil  your  tea." 

"  Boil  the  kettle,  you  mean  ?  Tea  should  never 
be  boiled." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Erick  lightly;  "I  am  no 
tea-maker;  but  I  believe  that  is  the  idea.  You  have 
spirits  of  wine  in  this  lamp,  and  it  keeps  the  tea 
pot  hot — boiling,  if  you  like.  I  know  the  value  of 
such  an  arrangement  in  making  coffee." 

" Coffee!  But  don't  they  have  fires  in  Japan? 
or  do  they  live  without  fire  ?  That  would  be  like 
them,  I  suppose." 


372  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"Fire  certainly,"  said  Erick  laughing.  "I  was 
thinking  of  coffee  making  in  England,  and  Paris, 
and  America." 

"  With  spirits  of  wine  /  Never  heard  of  such  a 
thing  in  all  my  life ! " 

What  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  had  never  heard  of,  she 
generally  seemed  to  object  to  hearing  of.  Erick 
went  on  to  something  else,  getting  his  own  amuse 
ment  by  the  way.  The  cups  and  saucers  which 
followed  the  teapot  occasioned  however  the  live 
liest  expressions  of  pleasure  from  both  Mrs.  Har 
denbrook  and  her  daughter.  Beautiful  ware,  and 
of  shapes  and  patterns  hitherto  unknown  in  Cow 
slip.  Then  came  fans.  Then  came  boxes,  of  dark 
wood,  elegantly  carved;  and  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's 
satisfaction  grew  unmistakeable.  The  wrinkle  left 
her  forehead,  and  her  critical  eyebrow  was  dropped ; 
and  as  the  room  became  gradually  littered  with  cu 
rious  and  beautiful  trifles — some  of  the  things  were 
not  trifles, — she  and  Posie  by  degrees  worked  them 
selves  into  an  enthusiasm  of  delight.  Vases,  mats, 
chains,  charms,  puzzles,  lanterns;  what  not?  issued 
from  Erick's  box;  till  at  length  the  box  was  empty 
and  the  room  was  full ;  and  it  may  be  said,  also  the 
heads  of  the  ladies.  Then  Erick  went  away  to  wash 
his  hands;  and  Stephen  began  collecting  the  straw 
and  rubbish  from  the  floor  and  depositing  them  in 
the  box.  Having  done  this,  he  carried  off  the  great 
packing  case;  and  came  back  with  a- dustpan  and 
brush  to  get  rid  of  all  remainder  of  what  Mrs.  Harden 
brook  called  the '  muss.'  Mr.  Hardenbrook  looked  on. 


THE  SCREEN.  373 

"I  declare,  Stephen,"  cried  Posie  at  last,  "you 
are  too  good  to  live.  Mamma,  just  see  how  nice 
he  has  made  things  again.  Mamma,  he  ought  to 
have  something." 

"  He  may  have  that  screen,  for  ought  I  care," 
said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  "  Did  you  ever  see  any 
thing  so  horrid  ?  What  Erick  brought  it  here  for, 
or  why  he  bought  it  at  all,  I  cannot  conceive. 
It's  the  homeliest  concern  I  ever  saw,  that  set  up 
to  be  handsome." 

"  I  think  it  is  handsome,"  Stephen  put  in,  look 
ing  up  from  his  dustpan. 

"  I  think  it's  as  homely  as  sin.  Then  do  take  it 
away,  and  put  it  where  my  eyes  will  never  light 
on  it.  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  queerer  or 
uglier." 

"But  mother,"  Posie  ventured,  "what  will  Mr. 
Dunstable  think,  if  you  give  away  his  gifts?" 

"  Does  Mr.  Dunstable  suppose  I  am  going  to  live 
in  this  litter  the  rest  of  my  life  ? "  Mrs.  Harden 
brook  returned  sharply.  "  I  am  going  to  send 
away  all  these  things,  somewhere, — except  one  or 
two  of  those  vases.  Erick  will  never  ask  what 
closet  they  are  in,  will  he  ?  Take  it  away,  Stephen, 
and  do  what  you  like  with  it.  Don't  you  be  a 
goose,  Posie ! " 

"  Perhaps  Posie  would  like  to  keep  the  screen 
herself?"  said  Stephen. 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Posie.  "  If  you  like  it, 
I  am  glad  you  have  got  it,  Stephen.  I  do  not 
admire  it,  any  more  than  mother  does.  I  was  only 


374  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

afraid  my  cousin's  feelings  might  be  hurt.     No,  I 
don't  want  that  monkey  grinning  at  me." 

So  Stephen  carried  off  the  screen  to  his  own  little 
room,  where  it  was  as  incongruously  placed  as 
anything  could  be.  It  was  like  none  of  its  sur 
roundings;  it  was  of  kindred  associations  with 
none.  The  rough  white  walls,  the  rude  little  cot, 
the  wooden  chair,  and  the  small  old  trunk  which 
neld  part  of  Stephen's  clothes,  all  had  no  connection 
whatever  with  beauty  of  form  or  richness  of  colour. 
Perhaps  that  was  one  reason  why  Stephen  liked  the 
screen  so  much.  It  was  a  bit  of  something  his  soul 
loved.  He  set  it  carefully  down,  and  sat  down  him 
self  and  studied  it.  The  grave  rich  harmony  of  its 
tints,  the  sober  sheen  of  its  subdued  gold,  the  odd 
varieties  in  its  construction  upon  which  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook  remarked  with  so  much  disgust,  yet  which 
rather  served  to  heighten  the  sense  of  harmony;  all 
were  delightful  to  Stephen,  He  feasted  his  eyes 
upon  it,  this  first  bit  of  art  (if  it  may  be  called  so) 
that  had  ever  come  into  his  possession.  For  Ste 
phen  had  an  eye  for  colour,  although  the  sole  culti 
vation  the  taste  had  received  was  in  his  association 
with  nature.  Nature  however  is  not  a  bad  teacher; 
and  somehow,  from  early  years,  Stephen  had  been 
an  observer  and  student,  so  far  as  he  could,  of  nat 
ural  things.  He  always  watched  the  sky  and  the 
clouds,  which  most  people  notice  only  for  signs  of 
weather ;  and  in  all  the  natural  world  perhaps  there 
is  no  better  school  for  colour.  Not  the  golden  and 
crimson  alone  were  beloved  of  Stephen's  eye ;  the 


THE  SCREEN.  375 

greys  and  browns,  the  matchless  mixed  purples,  the 
soft  fawns  and  greens  and  ashes-of-roses,  with  the 
combinations  and  blendings  of  all  these,  were  a 
never-exhausted  treasury  of  pleasure.  Then  he  had 
learnt  to  see  the  changes  of  tint  in  a  meadow,  where 
the  common  eye  discerns  nothing  but  a  green  plain ; 
he  noticed  the  varied  tints  of  green  where  different 
growths  of  grass  came  in  or  the  light  fell  variously 
on  a  slope,  the  streak  of  dark  red  where  a  bit  of  poor 
ground  gave  entertainment  to  a  patch  of  sorrel,  the 
touch  of  another  sort  of  red  where  wild  roses  grew 
at  the  edge  of  the  field  or  a  cockle  blossom  reared 
itself  up  in  the  grass,  or  clover  heads  were  blushing. 
What  pleasure  Stephen  took  in  all  these,  I  should 
despair  of  telling  anybody  who  did  not  himself  know 
the  same  by  experience.  Then  a  field  of  grain  un 
der  a  breeze  that  swayed  the  ripe  ears;  or  the 
branches  of  shad  blossom  shining  white  among  the 
dark  foliage  of  a  wood  in  the  spring;  or  the  long 
arms  of  a  dogwood  carrying  their  wreath  of  fair 
white  flowers  across  his  path  a  little  later;  or  a 
soft  maple  in  the  autumn,  holding  forth  one  fiery 
branch,  before  the  turn  of  the  leaf  had  become  gen 
eral  among  its  neighbour  trees ;  these  and  a  thousand 
other  combinations  were  a  continual  nourishment 
and  joy  to  a  part  of  Stephen  Kay's  nature  which 
found  no  other  but  the  like  food.  It  found  no  ex 
pression,  either;  or  but  rarely.  Now  and  then, 
walking  or  driving  with  Posie,  he  would  point  her 
eyes  to  something  which  delighted  his;  and  Posie 
would  nod  acquiescence,  but  never  look  twice.  So 


376  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

Stephen's  communications  on  these  subjects  were 
naturally  few,  and  his  taste  unsuspected;  and  the 
men  in  the  factory  would  have  been  much  aston 
ished  to  know  that  their  very  business-like  young 
overseer,  who  knew  figures  as  he  knew  his  fingers, 
could  be  seen  going  down  on  his  knees  in  a  wood 
to  look  at  a  patch  of  violets  in  the  moss. 

Therefore  Stephen  loved  the  brown  and  the  grey 
and  the  gold  in  the  Japanese  screen,  and  delighted 
in  it  exceedingly.  But  it  was  more  than  this  to 
him ;  it  was  a  foreigner;  it  testified  of  a  whole  world 
of  foreigners  and  of  foreign  things,  of  which  till 
now  he  had  known  nothing.  Of  course  Stephen 
was  aware  that  the  world  was  round,  and  the  anti 
podes  at  a  great  distance  away;  but  until  this  even 
ing  he  had  never  realized  how  great  the  distance 
might  be  in  other  things  beside  miles.  He  sat  and 
looked  at  the  screen  now  and  began  to  feel  out  the 
truth.  It  would  have  been  an  entire  moral  irn pos 
sibility  for  anybody  in  or  about  Cowslip,  nay,  for 
anybody  in  all  New  England,  to  conceive  or  exe- 
.cute  such  a  thing  as  that.  A  New  England  work 
shop  would  have  turned  out  each  panel  of  one  pat 
tern,  at  least;  and  if  the  idea  of  quartering  it  could 
have  occurred  to  a  downright  Downeaster,  the 
making  one  of  the  .quarters  of  patchwork  never 
would.  If  that  had  been  within  the  bounds  of  his 
possible  imagination,  the  patchwork  certainly  would 
have  been  in  a  regular  design — a  star,  or  a  crescent, 
or  some  other  remarkable  figure, — and  put  together 
with  contrasts  of  colour  that  should  have  made  the 


THE  SCREEN.  377 

whole  thing  startling.  No  such  soft  variety  without 
contrast,  no  such  eccentric  arrangement  as  forbade  a 
pattern,  no  such  soft,  rich,  blended  hues,  ever  rose 
upon  the  circuit  of  a  Yankee  fancy.  The  screen 
came  from  far  away,  and  from  a  mental  organiza 
tion  further  away  still.  What  must  the  rest  of  the 
life  be,  where  this  odd  beautiful  thing  was  at  home 
and  in  harmony  ?  It  stood  there  in  Stephen's  little 
bare  room  like  the  stranger  it  was,  bearing  testi 
mony  to  the  existence  of  a  mental  and  social  world 
utterly  unlike  the  one  he  knew.  And  if  there  were 
one  such,  there  might  be  many.  The  world  sud 
denly  assumed  a  new  character  in  Stephen's  eyes; 
from  that  time  it  was  no  more  a  mere  magnified 
New  England  in  his  thoughts,  but  something  to 
study. 

I  cannot  search  out  all  the  confusion  of  images 
which  succeeded  one  another  in  Stephen's  brain. 
They  were  very  vague,  many  of  them,  not  traced 
or  fully  discerned  by  himself.  An  indistinct  sense 
of  want;  a  dim  longing  for  knowledge,  for  travel, 
for  an  intelligent  filling  up  of  the  vast  outlines 
which  were  all  he  knew  of  the  creation;  an  incip 
ient  determination,  springing  from  an  unrecognized 
contrast;  all  kept  down  by  his  practical  sense  of 
present  duty  and  the  bondage  of  present  circum 
stances  ;  with  which,  true  to  his  principles,  Stephen 
was  content  as  long  as  they  lasted.  He  sat  looking 
and  brooding,  till  at  last  all  other  visions  faded  into 
one — the  idea  of  a  room  which  should  be  altogether 
in  keeping  with  this  Japanese  screen.  One  day, 


378  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

he  thought,  the  screen  should  be  so  placed;  and 
nothing  in  that  imagined  room  should  be  out  of 
harmony  with  it.  Soft  combinations  of  colour, 
rich  individual  hues,  refinement  of  workmanship 
and  beauty  of  design;  a  subdued  quiet  of  effect, 
where  nothing  should  strike  the  eye,  yet  every 
thing  delight  it  when  looked  at;  such  a  place 
dawned  upon  Stephen's  imagination.  No  room  like 
that  was  in  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  house,  or  ever  could 
be;  no  room  like  that  had  Stephen  Kay  ever  seen; 
but  the  proof  of  the  possibility  of  it  was  before 
him.  Some  day, — it  was  all  very  vague;  Stephen 
hardly  knew  himself  what  he  was  thinking  of;  but 
the  reason  of  this  was,  that  it  fell  in  with  a  course 
of  thought  which  had  become  to  him  second  nature. 
Everything  in  the  possible  future  which  he  meant 
to  do  or  meant  to  have,  if  he  could,  was  all  round 
about  or  laid  at  the  feet  of  Posie.  He  did  not  reason 
about  this ;  as  I  said,  it  was  second  nature ;  it  had 
simply  grown  up  with  him.  So  the  screen  was 
for  Posie,  and  that  room  was  to  be  Posie's  room, 
to  which  the  screen  had  given  the  key  and  the 
incitement. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
CAPPING  VEKSES. 

THE  summer  days  went  by  merrily.  "A  man's 
gift  maketh  room  for  him,"  saith  the  proverb; 
and  certain  it  is,  from  the  time  of  the  unpacking  of 
Erick's  box  he  had  been  accepted  as  quite  belong 
ing  to  the  family.  A  very  agreeable  and  useful 
member  of  the  family  party  he  proved  himself. 
Never  had  the  house  been  so  lively  before.  Meal 
times  became  delightful  occasions  for  much  more 
than  bodily  refreshment;  the  long  evenings  after 
supper  were  not  long  enough  for  the  play  that  went 
on  in  them.  Hitherto  the  social  pleasures  of  the 
house  had  been  very  quiet  ones.  Stephen  was  not 
much  of  a  talker  in  general,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  none 
at  all.  He  had  plenty  of  intelligence,  and  could 
enjoy  other  people's  talk  right  well,  when  it  was 
worth  listening  to;  he  himself,  except  on  business 
themes,  had  hardly  a  word  to  say.  Truly  his  stock  of 
knowledge  and  of  experience  was  very  limited.  Ho 
was  not  an  educated  man,  except  so  far  as  the  com 
monest  school  advantages  went,  supplemented  by  a 
practical,  sensible,  thoughtful  life.  Mrs.  Harden 
brook  could  talk  fast  enough;  but  never  judged  her 

(379) 


380  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

family  circle  the  proper  sphere  for  it;  at  least  the 
utmost  to  which  she  favoured  those  belonging  to 
it  ordinarily  was  of  the  captious  and  critical  kind. 
And  Posie  could  riot  talk  alone.  But  now  all  was 
altered.  Erick  was  the  useful  flux,  under  whose 
persuasive  influence  the  other  intractable  elements 
lost  their  character,  and  softened,  and  flowed  to 
gether.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  could  go  on  now  with 
out  end.  Posie  became  vivacious.  Even  Mr.  Har 
denbrook  would  put  in  a  word  now  and  then;  and 
his  laugh  and  the  sly  twinkle  of  his  eye  were  always 
ready.  The  new  blossoming  out  of  the  family  social 
life  was  evidently  a  great  refreshment  to  him;  his 
whole  nature  expanded  and  revived  under  the  un 
wonted  stimulus;  he  grew  young  again  with  every 
day. 

Stephen  alone  kept  his  old  manner,  and  seemed 
not  to  benefit  in  equal  degree  by  the  new  elements 
that  had  come  into  his  daily  life.  If  the  character 
of  all  the  meals  and  the  whole  household  intercourse 
was  changed,  the  change  did  not  extend  to  his 
part  in  them.  He  talked  no  more  than  he  had 
been  used  to  do;  rather  less.  Everybody  knew  that 
Stephen  was  a  good  listener  and  that  he  was  safe 
to  lose  nothing  of  all  that  went  on  around  him ; 
what  he  thought  of  it,  he  did  not  generally  tell 
them ;  never,  unless  challenged  to  do  so.  He  was 
ready  then,  although  scant  of  words;  but  somehow 
Stephen's  few  sentences  said  as  much  as  other  peo 
ple's  many.  Yet  that  he  did  not  enjoy  equally 
with  the  others  the  new  state  of  things,  is  underii- 


CAPPING  VERSES.  381 

able,  and  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  it  threw 
him  out  of  his  place.  Not  out  of  his  real  place  in 
anybody's  regard  or  trust,  but  out  of  his  office  and 
position  as  a  constant  helper  and  resort  in  all  sorts 
of  need.  Stephen  had  been  indispensable,  even  to 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  who  depended  on  him  for  more 
than  she  knew.  He  still  kept  his  place  with  Mr. 
Hardenbrook;  but  the  others,  at  least  for  the  mo 
ment,  could  do  without  him.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
largely  employed  Erick  now  to  do  things  for  her; 
unless  they  were  disagreeable  things,  in  which  case 
Stephen  was  found  as  serviceable  as  ever;  and  Posie 
needed  him  no  longer  for  a  walk  or  a  drive.  Erick 
had  his  whole  time  at  disposal,  and  that  meant,  at 
Posie's  disposal;  she  could  go  when  and  whither 
she  would;  there  was  no  need  to  wait  till  Stephen 
could  be  out  of  the  factory.  And  Stephen  would 
come  in,  and  find  the  young  people  gone;  or  he 
would  look  from  the  window  of  the  workshop  and 
see  the  buggy  just  driving  through  the  gates  of  the 
courtyard;  and  he  did  not  enjoy  it.  So  also  in  the 
evenings  and  at  mealtimes,  when  they  were  all  to 
gether;  Erick  constantly  found  entertainment  for 
Posie,  and  he,  Stephen,  was  not  necessary  to  it,  or 
to  her.  Erick  told  stories,  or  he  played  games,  and 
made  himself  agreeable  generally;  and  as  I  said, 
the  house  was  lively  after  an  entirely  new  fashion ; 
but  the  new  fashion  hardly  included  Stephen,  ex 
cept  as  a  listener  and  spectator. 

"  That's  a  silent  friend  of  yours,"  Erick  remarked 
one  evening,  when  Stephen  had  left  the  room. 


382  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  He  always  is  silent,"  returned  Posie.  "At  least, 
unless — " 

"  Unless  what,  please  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Posie  with  a  little  difficulty,  "he  does 
not  talk  much,  unless  he  has  something  to  say." 

There  was  a  general  burst  of  merriment  at  this; 
but  Mrs.  Hardeiibrook  remarked  severely,  "  I  should 
think  you  forget  yourself,  Posie  !-" — and  Posie  col 
oured  up  to  her  eyes,  recognizing  the  fact  that  she 
had  forgotten  herself,  and  said  an  ungraceful  thing; 
such  as  Erick  with  his  knowledge  of  the  world 
would  never  have  been  guilty  of.  But  Erick 
laughed  most  of  all. 

"  I  will  put  my  question  in  another  form,"  he 
said.  "How  is  it  that  he  so  seldom  has  some 
thing  to  say  ?  Is  he  shy  ?  " 

"  N-o,"  said  Posie.  afraid  now  to  go  any  further 
in  attempting  to  account  for  Stephen's  manner. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  answered  her  father  heartily. 
"No  more  shy  than  you  are.  Get  Stephen  where 
he  feels  thai?  he  ought  to  speak,  and  he  will  speak 
fast  enough,  never  fear." 

"But  what  constitutes  an  'ought'  for  Mr.  Kay, 
in  this  connection  ?  "  pursued  Erick. 

"That  I  can't  say.  But  whatever  Mr.  Kay  thinks 
he  ought  to  do,  in  any  connection,  that  he'll  do." 

"  Mr.  Hardeiibrook,  how  do  you  know?  You 
cannot  see  people's  hearts," — said  his  wife,  with  a 
face  that  spoke  for  an  amount  of  vinegar  in  her 
own  at  the  moment. 

"Don't  need  it  either,"  rejoined  her  husband. 


CAPPING  VERSES.  383 

"  I  can  tell  enough  by  people's  lives.  And  Ste 
phen,  ever  since  I  first  knew  him,  when  he  was  a 
little  shaver,  has  done  always  and  everywhere  what 
he  thought  was  his  duty  to  do." 

Erick's  eyes  went  to  Posie  as  if  to  inquire  how 
far  this  statement  was  truth,  how  far  favouritism? 
But  Posie  nodded  her  head  in  confirmation. 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  went  out;  the  other  three  pres 
ently  fell  upon  some  other  subject.  I  may  remark 
that  the  above  conversation  took  place  on  a  Sunday 
evening.  An  hour  or  two  later,  Stephen  returned, 
and  found  them  capping  verses. 

u  0  Stephen,  you  are  just  in  time,"  Posie  cried. 
"  Come  and  help  us.  You'll  do  the  best  of  all." 

'*  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  0  capping  verses;  and  you  know  so  much  more 
than  the  rest  of  us.  We  take  the  verses  from 
hymns,  of  course;  as  it  is  Sunday." 

"Capping  verses!"  Stephen  repeated  in  a  sort 
of  bewilderment. 

"  Yes ;  not  exactly ;  we  couldn't  make  it  work ;  but 
it  is  a  sort  of  capping  verses.  We  are  just  quoting 
lines  of  hymns ;  only,  your  verse  must  begin  with  the 
letter  that  begins  the  last  word  of  mine.  For  in 
stance, — the  line  I  quoted  just  as  you  came  in,  was, 

"  '  My  soul,  come  meditate  the  day' 

"Now  your  verse  must  commence  with  D;  don't 
you  see?" 

Stephen  did  not  appear  to  see ;  he  stood  still,  look 
ing  at  Posie;  his  habitual  quiet  reserve  perhaps 


384  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

hindering  his  face  from  expressing  what  he  felt. 
It  expressed  nothing  that  the  others  could  read. 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  put'her  handkerchief  to  her  face, 
and  shook  with  silent  laughter.  Posie  looked  em 
barrassed  ;  Erick  curious. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  something,  Stephen?"  said 
the  former.  "Aren't  you  going  to  help  us?  Cous 
in  Erick  has  the  better  of  me,  because  he  has  sung 
in  a  choir  in  England;  but  I  guess  you  know  more 
than  he  does.  I  believe  you  know  half  the  hymn 
book.  Won't  you  play  ?  " 

"Sunday  night?"  said  Stephen  doubtfully. 

"Yes,  but  we  are  playing  with  lines  of  hymns, 
you  know." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can." 

"  Why  not  ?     There  are  plenty  of  them ;  plenty." 

"What  is  your  object?" 

"Our  object?" 

"Yes.  What  do  you  want  to  play  for?  What 
do  you  get  by  it  ?  " 

Stephen's  questions  were  so  quiet  and  unimpas- 
sioned  that  Posie  did  not  quite  know  how  to  un 
derstand  them,  and  looked  at  him  vaguely.  Erick 
came  to  her  help. 

"I  suppose  we  are  playing  for  the  usual  end, 
amusement,"  he  said.  "Just  to  pass  the  time  harm 
lessly  and  exercise  our  wits,  or  our  memories." 

"You  know,  Stephen,"  Posie  went  on,  "we  are  think 
ing  of  good  things  all  the  while,  and  talking  of  good 
things.  What  can  be  better  than  lines  of  hymns  ?  " 

Stephen  made  no  answer,  or  not  in  words,  but 


CAPPING  VERSES.  385 

he  turned  his  eyes  full  upon  Posie  and  looked  into 
hers  steadily.  Stephen  had  good  eyes;  they  were 
fearless  and  thoughtful  and  true  at  all  times;  upon 
occasion  they  could  be  powerful;  and  their  stead 
fast,  grave,  gentle,  glance  seemed  to  affect  Posie 
now  singularly.  She  coloured,  moved  uneasily, 
looked  away  and  looked  again  at  him. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Stephen  ?  "  she  said 
at  last.  "  Speak  out !  I  would  rather  you  would 
speak  out,  than  look  at  me.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  was  sorry,  Posie,  that's  all,"  he  answered, 
turning  his  eyes  from  her. 

"  But  why  ?  why  ?     What  possible  harm  ?  " 

"  What  difference  between  saying  the  hymns  and 
singing  them  ?  "  suggested  Erick. 

"  How  would  you  like  taking  the  hymn  tunes  in 
that  way  ?  "  Stephen  returned.  u  One  line  of  one 
tune,  and  the  next  of  another;  and  so  on." 

"  Not  at  all,  of  course;  that  is  different." 

"  Quite  different,"  Posie  echoed. 

"  Why  would  you  not  like  it  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  it  would  be  disagreeable,"  Erick 
said  with  half  a  laugh. 

"  You  care  too  much  for  the  music,"  Stephen  said 
dryly. 

"  Oh  Stephen !  "  cried  Posie,  now  in  a  good  deal 
of  excitement —  "0  Stephen!  do  you  think  I  do 
not  care  for  the  hymns?  0  Stephen,  do  you  think 
that?  Speak!" 

"  I  do  not  suppose  you  thought  about  the  hymns 
at  all,  Posie,"  Stephen  said  rather  sorrowfully. 


386  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Posie  here  burst  into  tears.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
angrily  asked  what  made  him  say  that? 

"  She  could  not  have  done  it,  if  she  had  thought," 
Stephen  answered  in  the  same  way. 

"  It  is  my  fault,"  said  Eriek.  "I  am  the  sinner, 
if  there  is  one  in  the  lot." 

"It  is  easy  to  say  that,"  said  Stephen  gravely; 
"  but  nobody  who  feels  it,  plays  with  the  fact.  And 
so  with  the  rest.  '  I  love  my  Shepherd's  voice ' — 
or,  '  How  firm  a  foundation,' — or,  *  There  is  a  foun 
tain  filled  with  blood,' — Nobody  that  can  say  those 
with  great  joy,  can  use  them  as  marbles  to  play  a 
game  with; — you  hit  mine  and  I'll  hit  yours." 

"  0  Stephen  !     0  Stephen  ! " — cried  Posie  sobbing. 

"  Isn't  it  true  ?  "  Stephen  asked  gently. 

"I  think  it  is  very  arrogant  to  say  it,"  responded 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  angrily.  "  What  do  you  think 
of  the  words  about  judging  people?  and  there  is  in 
the  Bible  such  a  word  as  charity,  if  you  please  to 
remember." 

"  Charity  is  love — "said  Stephen. 

"No,  it  isn't!  it  is  something  quite  different.  It 
is  something  that  makes  you  make  the  best  of  other 
people,  and  always  think  the  best  of  them." 

Stephen  looked  pained. 

"  After  all,  how  is  our  little  game  any  worse  than 
the  most  of  choir  singing?"  Erick  asked,  willing  to 
make  a  diversion.  "  I  assure  you,  ninety,  nine  hun- 
dredths  of  the  people  who  make  up  the  church 
choirs,  do  not  think  what  they  are  singing,  but  only 
how  they  can  best  sing  it.  And  the  most  of  them 


CAPPING  VERSES.  387 

could  not,  if  they  thought,  adopt  the  words  as  their 
own — as  giving  their  own  experience." 

Stephen  did  not  seem  to  wish  to  criticise,  or  to 
explain  himself;  he  was  silent. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  them  ?  "-—Erick  spoke 
lightly.  But  Stephen  answered,  not  lightly, — 

"I  would  not  have  them.  That  is,  if  I  were  the 
minister  of  the  church,  and  could  do  anything 
about  it." 

"  You  would  stop  their  singing !  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  churches  must  have  choirs  ?  " 

u  Where  there's  a  church,  there  are  Christians," 
Stephen  answered,  smiling  a  little. 

"  And  you  really  would  not  have  anybody  sing 
hymns,  that  could  not  adopt  for  himself  the  words 
he  sang  ?  " 

"  The  question  is,  what  would  God  have." 

"I  should  say,  certainly,  he  would  have  good 
music  in  the  churches." 

"  Yes.  Then  you  must  find  out  what  lie  thinks 
good  music." 

Erick  stared  a  little,  but  was  too  polite  to  say 
what  rose  to  his  lips.  He  was  silent  now,  and 
after  a  pause  Stephen  went  on. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  remember  some  words  I 
was  reading  only  to-day;  Isaiah's  message  from 
the  Lord  to  some  people  who  drew  near  him  with 
their  mouth  and  honoured  him  with  their  lips,  and 
that  was  all.  The  Lord  took  no  pleasure  in  it,  or 
in  them." 


388  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"But  it  seems  to  me,  we  want  good  singing  in 
the  churches  to  lead  the  singing  of  the  untrained 
voices  there.  And  the  effect  of  a  well  sung,  fine 
piece  of  music, — do  you  make  nothing  of  that?  the 
effect  upon  the  hearers?" 

"  Stephen  is  so  cranky,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
pettishly,  "there  is  no  getting  along  with  him. 
Posie,  do  dry  your  eyes  and  don't  be  a  goose  !  the 
wisdom  of  the  world  isn't  shut  up  in  Mr.  Kay.  I 
wonder  what  sort  of  music  we  should  have  in  our 
churches,  if  he  had  his  way  ?  " 

Stephen  took  this  burst  with  the  utmost  quiet 
ness;  only  glanced  a  little  wistfully  at  Posie. 

"I  don't  see,"  remarked  the  latter,  "how  we 
should  have  any  singing  at  all !  I  don't  know 
where  he  would  get  his  choir." 

"  If  I  could  not  have  one  that  would  please  God," 
said  Stephen  calmly,  "  I  would  have  none  at  all." 

"  Kay,"  said  Erick  suddenly,  "  let's  take  a  turn 
outside.  There's  just  time  for  a  bit  of  a  walk  be 
tween  now  and  suppertime;  don't  you  want  a 
breath  of  fresh  air." 

"  As  if  the  windows  were  not  all  open,  as  wide 
as  they  can  stand,  and  been  open  all  day ! "  cried 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  But  the  young  men  went  out. 

"Posie,  don't  be  a  goose!"  her  mother  admon 
ished  her  again  with  energy. 

"  But  mother,  Stephen  is  always  right,  in  what 
ever  he  says." 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  don't.  I  think  he  is  a 
great  prig;  that's  what  I  think  of  him,  if  you  want 


CAPPING  VERSES.  389 

to  know.     You  needn't  cry  for  any  wisdom  that 
comes  out  of  his  mouth." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  a  *  prig.' " 
"I  mean  a  conceited  fellow,  who  is  always  for 
setting  the  world  right  according  to  his  own  no 
tions." 

"0  mother,  Stephen  is  not  conceited!" 
"  I  don't  know  what  you  call  it,  then,  I  am  sure. 
Isn't  he  always  telling  you  what  you  ought  to  do?" 
"No; — unless  when  the  question  comes  up." 
"Ah!  and  when  doesn't  it  come  up?     Posie,  he 
just  leads  you  and  your  father  by  the  nose!  that's 
what  he  does;  and  you're  so  meek  you  don't  know 
it.     Now  he  don't  lead  me,  and  he  is  aware  of  it, 
and  so  he  don't  like  me." 

"0  mother,  0  mother!  how  can  you  talk  so! 
Stephen  never  tries  to  lead  anybody;  he  never  did. 
And  you  have  no  reason  in  the  world  to  say  he 
does  not  like  you." 

"Well,  he  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  with 
decision,  "  and  I  suppose  he  knows  why.  But  you 
and  your  father  are  blind.  And  I  am  just  glad 
you  should  see  somebody  else,  before  you  or  the 
world  was  much  older ;  you  were  thinking  Stephen 
a  sort  of  demigod." 

"  I  haven't  changed  my  thought  of  him." 
"  Well,  you  see  now  there  are   two  sorts,  any 
way.     Tour  thought  ivill  change,  I  fancy." 
Posie  was  silent. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ENTHUSIASM. 

IT  had  been  a  hot  summer  day,  and  now  at  the 
end  of  the  day  the  twilight  shadow  and  the 
lowered  temperature  were  very  welcome;  and  there 
was  a  little  freshness  in  the  air,  though  not  much, 
no  breeze  stirring.  Still  it  was  very  sweet  out  of 
doors.  The  soft  gloom  of  approaching  night,  en 
folding  the  meadows  and  the  hills  and  the  woody 
thickets,  blending  all  outlines,  losing  all  colours  in 
the  general  warm  grey,  seemed  to  send  the  soul 
in  upon  itself;  as  if  gently  withdrawing  earth  from 
observation  that  the  eye  of  the  mind  might  be 
turned  elsewhere ;  and  a  slender  new  moon,  already 
lowering  towards  the  west,  but  giving  a  delicate 
gleam  upon  the  darkening  world,  silvery  and  prom 
issory,  seemed  to  indicate  whither  the  thoughts 
should  go. 

Whither  went  the  two  young  men's  thoughts  did 
not  appear.  They  stepped  silently,  somewhat  leis 
urely,  along  beside  each  other;  neither  of  them 
remarked  upon  the  beauty  of  the  night  or  said 
anything  else;  and  the  slow,  languid  movement, 
(390) 


ENTHUSIASM.  391 

not  customary  with  either  of  them,  was  hardly 
accounted  for  by  the  lingering  warmth  of  the 
atmosphere.  It  was  the  step  of  men  whose  minds 
are  busy  and  preoccupied  in  some  way  that  has  no 
stimulus  in  it.  For  a  number  of  rods  they  went 
along  so,  and  then  it  was  Erick  that  broke  the 
cdlence. 

"Kay,  aren't  you  taking  things  up  a  little  shorter 
than  need  be  ?  " 

Stephen's  thoughts  had  been  following  another 
track,  for  he  started  as  he  answered 

"  What  things  ?  " 

"  Well — what  we  were  talking  of; — Bible  words, 
if  you  like." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  taking  them  'short1?" 

"I  mean, — don't  you  make  them  stricter  than 
really  they  are  meant  to  be  ?  At  your  rate,  they 
tie  a  fellow  up  tremendously." 

"  I  am  not  a  rule  for  anybody  else,"  said  Stephen. 

"  No,  but  I  really  want  to  know  what  you  mean. 
You  are  looked  up  to  as  an  authority  in  this  house, 
and  I  dare  say  justly.  I  take  it  on  trust  that  you 
are;  and  I  want  to  have  the  benefit,  as  well  as 
another." 

"  I  am  not  an  authority  anywhere,"  said  Stephen; 
"unless  perhaps  in  the  factory;  and  I  certainly  do 
not  desire  the  honour.  The  Bible  words  are  open 
for  every  one  to  read  and  study  for  himself;  and 
every  one  must  study  for  himself,  I  take  it." 

"  But  you  read  them  so  strictly." 

"  How  would  you  read  them  ?  " 


392  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"Why, — according  to  the  spirit,  and  not  the 
letter." 

"  But  what  is  the  *  spirit '  of  a  command  ?  "  said 
Stephen.  "  It  seems  to  me  it  means  obedience. 
That  is  what  /  mean,  when  I  give  an  order.  And 
it  is  what  you  mean,  isn't  it?" 

"But  the  Bible—"  said  Erick. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  that  God's  commands  should 
mean  anything  else  but  obedience." 

"But  Kay — "said  Erick  hesitating, — "I  am  a 
Christian." 

Stephen  made  no  answer. 

"At  least,"  Erick  went  on,  "I  always  thought  I 
was  one.  I  meant  to  be  one,  and  I  have  professed 
that  I  was  one.  But  my  religion  isn't  exactly  like 
yours." 

u  Is  it  a  religion  without  obedience  ?  "  inquired 
Stephen. 

"  I  have  not  meant  it  so.  But  you  make  obedi 
ence  somehow  to  be  different  from  mine;  or  you 
read  the  commands  differently;  and  one  of  us  must 
be  wrong.  It  is  most  likely  to  be  I;  but  I  am  in 
earnest  in  asking  you  about  it.  I  want  to  know." 

Stephen  paused  a  minute. 

"I  reckon  it  comes  to  this,"  he  said.  "Do  you 
love  the  commands  ?  " 

"  Love  them  !  "  echoed  the  other. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  love  to  obey  them  ?  " 

" lave"  repeated  Erick  again.  " That's  a  strange 
question.  I  obey  them — or  I  try  to  obey  them — 
because  I  ought.  I  wish  to  do  my  duty." 


ENTHUSIASM.  398 

"  Duty,"  said  Stephen.  "There  is  the  difference. 
To  me,  the  commands  shew  what  God's  will  is; 
and  I  love  dearly  to  do  his  will.  It  is  not  because 
I  ought." 

"Not  because  you  ought!"  cried  Erick.  "You 
make  nothing  of  duty  !  " 

"  0  yes,  I  do,"  said  the  other,  with  a  certain 
tender  ring  in  his  voice  which  Erick  noticed,  but 
did  not  understand.  "  I  make  it  my  delight." 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  you." 

"  It  is  very  simple,"  Stephen  answered,  speaking 
however  like  a  man  who  wished  to  say  no  more 
words  than  he  need. 

"It  is  too  simple,  for  I  cannot  make  you  out." 

"  It  is  just  the  fulfilment  of  the  old  promise,"  said 
Stephen.  " 4 1  will  put  my  laws  in  their  hearts, 
and  in  their  minds  will  I  write  them.'  They  are 
in  my  heart.  I  do  not  do  my  duty  because  it  is  in 
the  Book,  but  I  do  God's  Avill  because  I  love  it.  I 
love  it  better  than  anything — better  than  my  own 
will.  Do  you  understand  that?" 

"No." 

"  That  is  the  difference,  I  suppose,"  said  Stephen 
quietly. 

"  But  that  is  making  a  great  claim  for  yourself." 

"  What  claim  ?  " 

"  You  make  yourself  out  a  saint.  Pardon  me ! 
I  do  not  mean  anything  offensive.  I  am  really 
seeking  to  know  the  truth." 

"What  is  a  saint?"  Stephen  asked,  with  a  half 
smile  which  in  the  twilight  Erick  did  not  see. 


394  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"I  should  say,  a  person  who  is  no  longer  a 
sinner.  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  optional  with  a  Christian, 
whether  he  shall  be  a  saint  or  not  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Erick.  u  I  think  very  few  can  be 
saints.  Few  are  so  situated  that  they  can." 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  idea,  D  unstable  ?  " 

"  I  might  say,  from  observation, — experience." 

"  Experience  ?  " 

"Yes.'1 

"You  have  tried  yourself?  To  be  a  saint,  I 
mean." 

"Yes." 

"  And  failed  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  a  saint  ? "  asked  Erick 
shortly. 

"  But  after  all,  Mr.  Dunstable, "  said  Stephen, 
when  both  had  been  silent  a  minute  or  two,  "  we 
must  come  to  what  the  Bible  says  about  it." 

"  What  does  it  say  ?     I  don't  know." 

"  It  says,  God's  children  are  like  him;  and  it  bids 
them  be  4  holy,  as  he  is  holy.' " 

-"  Holy !  "  said  Erick. 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,  isn't  it?  Saints  are  just 
holy  ones." 

"  What  is  holy  ?     You  must  define  that." 

"Set  apart.  Set  apart  for  God;  and  so  then 
made  fit  for  him." 

"  Fit  for  him  !     How  can  a  man  be  that  ?  " 

Stephen  was  in  for  it;  he  was  obliged  to  speak. 
He  paused  a  minute,  and  then  went  on. 


ENTHUSIASM.  395 

"  Paul  said,  speaking  to  one  of  the  young  churches 
he  was  writing  to, — 1  forget  which, — 'Ye  are  wit 
nesses,  and  God  also,  how  holily,  and  justly,  and 
unblameably,  we  behaved  ourselves  among  you.'" 

"  That  was  Paul." 

"Yes,   but   why  should   it  not  be   Erick   Duri- 
stable  ?  "  asked  Stephen  smiling, 
.     "Well,   Paul  could  say  that;  but  what  would 
you  think  of  me  if  I  should  say  it  ?  " 

"  Paul  said  it  because  it  was  true.'" 

"Yes,  no  doubt;  but  it  could  not  be  true  of  me." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,"  said  Erick,  "  I  will  tell  you  the  truth. 
I  always  had  a  dislike  to  the  word  '  saint/  because 
it  seemed  to  mean  one  who  made  a  pretence  of 
being  better  than  other  people." 

"If  I  understand  the  word,  a  saint  never  makes 
a  pretence  of  anything." 

"Did  not  Paul  do  it,  when  he  wrote  that?" 

"  Why  no !  "  said  Stephen.  "  He  said  only  the 
simple  truth,  and  they  kneiv  it  was  a  truth,  the 
people  to  whom  he  was  writing.  'Ye  are  wit 
nesses,  and  God  also,' — he  wrote." 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  said  it.  I  should  like  him 
just  as  well  if  he  had  not  said  it." 

"  Here  is  one  reason  why  he  said  it,"  said  Ste 
phen  smiling  again; — "to  shew  Erick  Dunstable 
what  he  ought  to  be." 

"  How  is  it  possible  ?  "  cried  Erick.  "  '  Holily, 
justly,  and  unblameably,' — who  lives  like  that  in 
these  days  ?  " 


396  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Anybody  who  chooses,"  said  Stephen  gravely. 
There  was  silence  for  a  little  while;  the  two 
young  men  walked  slowly  and  thoughtfully  along, 
not  giving  any  heed  to  the  soft  twilight  or  the 
clear,  steadfast  moonbeams  which  came  with  faint 
silver  upon  everything  they  could  touch.  Erick 
spoke  first. 

"  Kay,  what  do  your  last  words  mean  ?  " 

"  Only  this,"  said  Stephen.  "  I  have  read  a  say 
ing  of  some  old  author,  which  struck  me  very 
much,  and  I  have  never  forgotten  it;  something 
like  this, — that  every  man  is  just  about  as  holy  as 
he  intends  to  be." 

"But  a  man  may,  and  does  often,  wish  for  at 
tainments  he  cannot  reach." 

"I  did  not  say  ivish;  I  said  'intend.'" 

There  was  a  longer  silence  this  time,  Erick  was 
again  the  one  to  speak  first. 

"  Kay,  have  you  reached  it  ?  " 

There  was  a  certain  change  in  the  voice,  and 
Stephen  responded  without  hesitation. 

"  Reached  what,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  have  you  got  where  you  dare  say  you 
live  My  ?  " 

"  I  live  to  do  God's  will,"  said  Stephen  stead 
fastly;  "and  as  far  as  I  know  it  I  do  it." 

"  When  it  goes  against  the  grain  ?  " 

"It  does  not  go  against  the  grain,"  Stephen 
said;  and  Erick  could  hear  that  he  was  smiling, 
though  he  could  not  see.  "  I  love  God's  will,"  he 
added  tenderly. 


ENTHUSIASM.  397 

"When  it  denies  you  what  you  most  want?" 

"Then  I  do  not  want  it,"  said  Stephen.  The 
smile  was  gone;  the  words  were  grave  and  deter 
mined. 

"I  cannot  say  so  much,"  said  Erick;  "I  cannot 
say  I  love  his  will.  I  try  to  do  it,  but  I  do  not 
love  it." 

"  Do  you  alioays  try  to  do  it?  " 

"I  may  not  always  know  what  it  is," — said 
Erick  hesitating. 

"  It  is  part  of  his  will  that  you  should  know. 
Do  you  study  it  ?  How  much  time  every  day  do 
you  give  to  the  Bible  and  prayer  over  the  Bible?" 

"Every  day? "said  Erick.  "Well — sometimes 
a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Stephen  waited  a  minute  and  then  said,  "  If  you 
took  as  much  care  of  your  body  as  you  do  of  your 
spirit,  I  should  say  you  would  die  of  starvation." 

"Kay,  how  did  you  get  to  be  different?  You 
must  have  been  different  to  begin  with.  My  head 
is  full  of  all  creation,  only  not  of  that." 

"  I  was  not  different,"  Stephen  answered  simply. 
"  But  my  mother  loved  Christ ;  and  when  I  was  left 
alone  in  the  world,  a  poor  little  child,  I  sought  my 
mother's  God;  and  I  sought  him  as  hard  as  I  could. 
And  so  I  found  him;  for  he  has  promised,  and  he 
keeps  his  promises.  There  is  no  mystery  about  it. 
But  Dunstable, — I  should  say,  that  nothing  else  is 
worth  seeking." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  Erick  answered  humbly. 

There  was  another  long  p.ause.     Stephen  was  not 


398  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

eager  to  talk,  and  his  companion  had  thoughts 
enough  to  occupy  him.  The  moon  dipped  lower 
and  lower,  touched  the  tops  of  the  woodland  that 
crowned  a  little  eminence,  and  then  sank  down, 
still  for  a  few  minutes  glittering  here  and  there 
through  a  gap  in  the  branches.  The  soft  gloom 
of  starlight  filled  the  world,  enhanced  by  the  heat 
haze  which  rendered  the  atmosphere  less  transpar 
ent  than  at  other  times.  There  was  a  faint  fra 
grance  in  the  air,  from  woods  and  earth  and 
flowers;  a  great  stillness,  made  not  less  still  by 
the  chirping  of  grasshoppers;  it  was  an  exceed 
ingly  sweet  summer  night,  with  no  element  of 
loveliness  wanting.  Stephen  enjoyed  it  fully,  being 
in  that  complete  harmony  with  nature  which  comes 
only  from  a  perfect  accord  within.  Peace  and  light 
and  fragrance,  to  him  were  not  more  facts  than  em 
blems.  But  Erick  did  not  know  what  sort  of  an  even 
ing  it  was.  Still  the  two  went  slowly  on  and  on. 

"  The  great  thing  is,"  he  broke  out  at  last, — "  I 
suppose, — to  be  in  earnest  enough !  " 

"  You  would  be  in  earnest  enough,"  said  Stephen, 
"if  you  only  knew." 

"If  I  only  knew  what?" 

"  How  good  Christ  is !  " 

**  I  never  heard  anybody  in  my  life  talk  just  as 
you  do,"  cried  the  other.  "  I  do  not  know  what  to 
make  of  it,  or  how  to  understand  it.  Are  you  an 
enthusiast  ?  or  am  I  a  fool  ?  I  am  serious." 

"  I  am  serious," — said  Stephen  quietly. 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 


ENTHUSIASM.  399 

"Just  what  I  say,  Dunstable.  Believe  me.  I 
have  tried  it  for  years  now;  and  I  tell  you,  there  is 
nothing  in  all  the  world  so  good  as  Christ  is,  to 
those  that  love  him." 

"I  hope — I  love  him,"  said  Erick  slowly.  "I 
thought  I  did." 

"  Do  you  love  him  so,  that  he  is  more  to  you  than 
all  the  rest  you  have  in  the  world  ?  " 

"More  in  a  way,"  said  Erick.  "Of  course,  all 
would  be  lost  without  him." 

"  But  I  mean  for  your  daily  enjoyment  ?  " 

"Enjoyment?"  said  Erick.     "No,  not  that." 

"  So  that  you  would  rather  lose  all  other  con 
ceivable  things  than  him  ?  For  happiness,  I  mean; 
not  salvation  merely." 

"  Would  you  ?  "     , 

"  A  thousand  times  over !  " 

"  Kay,"  said  the  other  after  a  minute's  interval, 
"  aren't  you  an  enthusiast  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  What  should  that  be,  in  this 
business." 

"  Well, — Say,  a  person  who  is  led  away  by  his 
feelings  rather  than  guided  by  principle." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Stephen  laughing  a  little; 
"  I  hope  I  am.  Hadn't  we  better  turn  about, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ? "  Erick  asked  as  they 
began  to  retrace  their  steps.  "Isn't  principle  better 
than  feeling,  and  safer?" 

"You  mean  it  would  be  safer  not  to  love  God 
too  much  ?  " 


400  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not ! " 

"Safer  not  to  build  one's  happiness  on  him?" 

uNo.     I  do  not  mean  that." 

"You  think  the  service  of  duty  easier,  then,  or 
better,  than  to  work  for  love  ?  " 

"  How  you  put  it !  "  cried  Erick.  "  But  I  have 
always  heard  a  great  objection  made  to  enthusiasm. 
That  sort  of  religion  is  said  not  to  stand." 

"I  do  not  think  I  know  the  word,  as  you  use  it," 
said  Stephen. 

They  walked  back  the  rest  of  the  way  in  almost 
absolute  silence.  Keaching  home,  Stephen  did  not 
go  again  into  the  parlour,  but  turned  off  to  his  and 
Jonto's  quarter. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

FOUR,  OE  FIVE? 

"  TI  7ELL!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  as  Erick 

VV  entered, — "do  you  call  this  a  walk,  that 
you  have  been  taking?  " 

"What  else?"  said  Erick  smiling. 

"  I  should  call  it  a  journey.  What  possessed  you 
to  go  so  far,  such  an  evening  ?  " 

"  We  did  not  go  very  far.     We  walked  slowly." 

"  What  did  you  go  for  at  all  ?  Pleasure  ?  I  should 
think  you  would  like  our  company  better  than  that 
boy's,  who  can't  talk." 

"Can't  he  talk?" 

"Why  yes,  mother!  of  course  he  can  talk. 
What  makes  you  say  so  ? "  cried  Posie.  "  Ste 
phen  is  a  very  good  talker." 

"/never  heard  him  say  anything  worth  a  cent. 
He  knows  chairs  and  tables,  I  suppose." 

"He  knows  more  than  that,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Hardenbrook. 

"  He's  not  half  a  bad  fellow,"  said  Erick  looking 
at  his  hostess  in  some  doubt  how  to  carry  on  the 
conversation. 

"  Bad,  I  suppose  he  isn't,  but  he  is  too  stupid  to 


402  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

live.  And  he  thinks  his  own  way  the  only  way, 
like  all  such  people.  Well,  what  have  you  been 
talking  about  with  him  all  this  while,  Erick?" 

""It  is  rather  a  lazy  atmosphere  outside,"  said 
Erick;  "inclines  one  to  take  things  easy.  What 
have  you  been  talking  about  ?  " 

"  La,  we  never  talk  about  anything,  except  when 
you  are  here.  But  there  is  something  we  ought 
to  talk  about,  Mr.  Hardenbrook;  and  that  is  our 
Niagara  journey.  If  we  are  going,  we  ought  to 
go;  that's  how  it  seems  to  me.  It's  August,  and 
in  a  little  while  it  will  be  September,  and  too  late; 
and  everybody  will  be  gone." 

"  The  water  will  be  there,  I  suppose,"  said  Erick. 

"The  water !"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  bringing 
her  eyes  upon  him  reprovingly;  "who  cares  for 
the  water?  You  know  better,  Erick." 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  for,  my  dear?"  asked 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughing. 

"Why  mother,  what  do  you  want  to  go  for?" 
echoed  Posie.  "  If  it  isn't  the  water." 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  ignored  these  questions  with 
a  superior  air.  "  When  shall  we  go,  Mr.  Harden 
brook  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Whenever  you  like,  my  dear.  You  have  only 
to  command.  The  more  people  there  are  there,  the 
more  difficult  you  will  find  it  to  be  comfortable; 
that's  all  I  have  to  say." 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  it,  Mr.  Harden 
brook.  I  wouldn't  go  at  all,  if  it  wasn't  for  the 
people.  Then  I  propose  that  we  start  next  Wed 


FOUR,  OR  FIVE?  403 

nesday.  We  should  have  to  spend  Wednesday 
night  in  New  York ;  and  then,  I  suppose,  we  could 
get  to  Niagara  next  day." 

"That  would  leave  us  just  two  days  to  come  home 
in  before  Sunday,"  remarked  Posie.  "  Friday  and 
Saturday, — without  seeing  anything.  Or  will  you 
stay  Friday  and  Saturday  and  Sunday  at  Niagara? 
That  would  be  glorious !  " 

"  At  how  much  a  day  ?  "  said  her  father. 

"I  don't  know.  0  pa,  you  don't  care  at  how 
much  a  day,  do  you  ?  We  never  went  to  Niagara 
before,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Nor  anywhere  else,"  said  her  mother.  "  Erick, 
we  don't  know  anything,  and  we've  never  seen  any 
body;  we  are  as  wild  as  dandelions  in  the  grass." 

"  I  like  wild  things,"  observed  Mr.  Hardenbrook. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Erick,  looking  towards  Posie. 
"  Only,  the  idea  of  dandelions  would  never  occur 
to  me  in  the  connection." 

"  What  then  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  furtively 
smiling. 

"  Cowslips — daisies — wild  roses.  Dandelions  are 
rather  coarse." 

,  "0  do  you  think  so?"  cried  Posie.  "But  father, 
what  would  it  cost  ?  Shall  we  go  Wednesday  and 
stay  over  till  Monday?  That  would  be  splendid!" 

"  You  can  be  away  just  as  well  as  not,"  Mrs.  Har 
denbrook  went  on.  "  Stephen  can  see  to  everything, 
while  you  are  away." 

"  0  but  Stephen  !  "  cried  Posie.  "  We  could  not 
leave  Stephen  behind.  He  is  going  too." 


404  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  He  can't,  child." 

"  He  must,  mother.  I  don't  want  to  go  at  all 
without  Stephen." 

"Posie,  somebody  must  be  at  home." 

"  No,  mother,  not  at  all.  Mr.  Gordon  can  take  care 
of  the  factory,  and  Jonto  is  enough  for  the  house. 
O  Stephen  must  go!  We  couldn't  do  without  him." 

"We  couldn't  do  with  him,  Posie.  You  do  not 
know  anything.  Four  is  a  good  number  to  travel, 
but  five  is  horrid." 

"Why?" 

"  I  tell  you,  it  is  horrid.  There  is  never  any  place 
for  the  fifth  one.  He's  always  in  the  way.  Two 
walk  together,  and  two;  but  the  odd  one  must  go 
streaking  along  by  himself,  or  else  be  a  nuisance. 
And  three  can't  talk.  And  four  can  go  in  a  car 
riage,  but  five  have  to  spill  somebody." 

"  I'll  go  up  on  the  box,  with  the  driver,"  suggested 
Erick. 

"Yes,  that  would  be  nice!  In  order  that  we 
may  listen  to  Stephen  Kay,  who  can't  talk.  I 
don't  want  to  look  at  your  back  from  a  distance, 
Erick." 

"I'll  settle  the  matter  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Har- 
denbrook.  "I  won't  go.  Stephen  shall  take  my 
place." 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook,"  said  his  wife  impressively, 
"  I -think  you  are  crazy  !  " 

"  I'd  rather  be  out  of  my  senses  than  have  no 
good  ones,  Maria." 

"  Pa,  we  want  you  too,"  said  Posie. 


FOUR,  OR  FIVE?  405 

"  Don't  care  twopence  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Har- 
denbrook.  "I'm  too  old.  It's  nothing  to  me,  bow 
many  gallons  of  water  go  over  tbe  rocks  at  Niagara. 
But  it  will  be  something  for  Stephen  to  see.  Poor 
fellow,  he  has  seen  nothing  in  all  his  life.  I'd  like 
to  give  him  a  chance,  for  once." 

"I  would  not  care  a  pin  about  going  without 
him,"  added  Posie.  "It  would  be  all  spoilt." 

"  Who  do  you  expect  will  take  care  of  us  gener 
ally,  and  pay  the  bills,  and  all  that?"  asked  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook.  "  Of  course  Erick  can  do  it,  but  it 
isn't  fair  to  put  it  on  him ;  and  it  would  bother 
we." 

"  I  will  put  it  on  Stephen.     Nothing  bothers  him." 

"  Stephen ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  "  You 
will  put  him  at  the  head  of  the  party!  Mr.  Har 
denbrook,  you  have  lost  all  your  senses.  That  boy ! 
who  knows  nothing !  " 

"  I  can  tell  you,  Maria,  '  that  boy '  always  knows 
anything  he  has  any  occasion  for  knowing.  You 
needn't  be  afraid." 

"Pie  knows  nothing  about  railroads." 

"It  is  time  he  did." 

"But  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  you  forget.  There  is 
somebody  present  who  could  take  charge  of  the 
party  much  more  fittingly;  and  more  safely;  and 
more  properly;  and  more  everything." 

"  You  do  me  much  honour,"  said  Erick  smiling. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  much  honour  to  Stephen,  if  I 
let  him,"  returned  Mr.  Hardenbrook. 

"  But  Stephen, — he  is  your  manager;  you  will  put 


406  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

him  out  of  his  place,"  urged  the  lady,  with  height 
ened  colour  and  vexed  eagerness. 

"  I  don't  know  about  his  place,  nor  you  neither, 
wife.  Stephen  may  be  the  President  of  the  United 
States  yet.  He  is  good  enough  for  anything.  From 
the  time  when  I  took  him  into  my  factory,  a  little 
bit  of  a  shaver,  and  put  him  under  Gordon,  he  al 
ways  did  what  he  had  to  do,  and  did  it  well.  He 
beat  boys  twice  as  old  as  himself,  and  walked  up 
into  the  business,  hand  over  hand.  I  tell  you,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  the  world  heard  of  Stephen 

yet." 

"  Father  doesn't  mean  that  Stephen  ivhipped  boys 
twice  as  old  as  himself,"  said  Posie  in  explanation. 
"  Stephen  never  would  fight." 

"  I  should  like  him  better  if  he  had  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook,  getting  out  of  herself  with  vexation. 
"A  dumpish,  stupid,  canting  fellow;  who  knows 
as  well  as  anybody  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered ; 
and  he  has  twisted  you  round  his  finger,  Mr.  Har 
denbrook.  You  do  just  what  Stephen  tells  you ;  and 
I'm  sick  of  it." 

And  she  burst  into  tears.  Erick,  thinking  him 
self  better  out  of  the  way,  went  off  to  his  room. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  followed  this  wise  example.  Left 
alone,  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  buried  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro.  Posie 
looked  on  in  dismay;  then  came  and  seated  herself 
on  a  cushion  at  her  mother's  feet. 

"Mother,"  she  said  softly,  "  what  makes  you  speak 
so  about  Stephen  ?  " 


FOUR,   OR  FIVE?  407 

"  Because  you  are  all  fools  !  "  said  the  lady  from 
behind  her  white  cambrick. 

u  Fools  how  ?  What  do  you  possibly  mean  ?  As 
if  Stephen  was  not  just  the  best  and  noblest  fellow 
that  ever  lived !  " 

u  Do  you  compare  him  with  your  cousin  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  suddenly  removing  the  hand 
kerchief  to  see  Posie's  face. 

"  Why  should  I  compare  them  ?  there's  no  need." 

"  Answer  me !  Do  you  compare  him  with  Mr. 
Dunstable?" 

"Not  in  some  things." 

"  I  thought  not !  "  said  the  lady  contemptuously. 

"  But  in  other  things  he  could  stand  comparison 
with  anybody,  mother.  Nobody  is  so  good  as  Ste 
phen." 

"  Yes.     I  don't  like  people  that  are  so  good." 

"0  why  do  you  say  so,  mother?" 

"They  are  priggish  and  stuck  up,  and  puffed  out 
with  conceit.  Stephen's  as  full  of  conceit  as  a  pea 
cock's  tail  is  full  of  eyes.  'I  like  people  that  are  a 
little  more  down  to  the  level  of  ordinary  humanity. 
And  I  don't  like  people  who  pull  you  and  your  fa 
ther  around  as  if  you  were  in  harness." 

"But  mother,  don't  you  know  Stephen  is  father's 
right  hand  ?  " 

"  What's  become  of  his  own  right  hand  ?  " 

"  And  Stephen  is  very  good  to  you ! " 

"  In  his  place.     I  don't  want  him  out  of  his  place." 

"But  he  is  in  his  place,  mother;  he  is  one  of  the 
family.  He  is  like  a  son  to  father  j^nd  he  is  just  as 


408  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

good  as  a  brother  to  me.  What  ever  should  I  do 
without  Stephen  ?  " 

"  Posie,  you're  a  goose !  Do  get  up  and  go  off. 
As  if  the  world  hung  upon  Stephen !  That's  just 
what  1  don't  like.  You'll  know  some  day  what  a 
goose  you  are.  And  now  he's  going  this  journey 
with  us  ! "  Down  went  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  head 
in  her  handkerchief  again.  Posie  rose  and  stood 
looking  upon  her  in  troubled  contemplation. 

*'  I  can't  think  what  makes  you  so  unfair,  mother." 

"Taint  a  fool!"  came  from  behind  the  handker 
chief. 

"  But  if  we  are  fools,  father  and  I,  we  must  be 
true;  and  it  would  be  very  unworthy,  it  seems  to 
me,  for  us  to  go  to  Niagara  and  not  let  Stephen  go 
too.  He  has  served  father  so  faithfully,  and  it 
would  be  such  a  pleasure  to  him." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  /have  not  served  him  faith 
fully,  and  it  is  no  matter  whether  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  me  or  not ! " 

Posie  gave  it  up. 


M 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

HAPPINESS. 

RS.  HARDENBROOK  was  not  accustomed  to 
have  her  own  way  when  her  husband  took  a 
thing  in  his  head.  So  she  knew  this  matter  was 
settled,  and  after  that  evening  made  no  more  ado. 
And  on  the  proposed  Wednesday  morning  the  pre 
arranged  party  set  off  for  Niagara. 

But  for  New  York  first.  It  was  unspeakable  de 
light  to  two  of  them.  Posie's  utmost  limits  of 
knowledge  of  the  world  extended  110  further  than 
Boston ;  Stephen's,  not  even  so  far.  For  them  there 
was  not  a  foot  of  the  way  that  was  not  rich  with 
new  experience ;  and  the  people  that  have  always 
Been  everything  and  been  everywhere  do  not  know 
what  that  means. 

It  was  a  very  warm  day,  which  was  to  be  ex 
pected,  seeing  they  were  in  AugusJ;  but  to  those 
two  there  was  no  heat  and  no  dust.  Or  if  heat 
and  dust  were  perceived  to  exist,  the  perception 
was  accompanied  with  the  most  supreme  disregard. 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  was  less  careless,  and  found  the 
journey  dusty  and  dry,  in  every  sense,  beyond  ex- 

(409) 


410  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

pression.  Poor  lady,  she  had  voluntarily  separated 
herself  from  all  that  could  have  brought  refreshment 
to  it;  having  held  back  as  they  entered  the  car,  al 
lowing  Erick  and  her  daughter  to  precede  her;  and 
then,  when  they  had  found  a  seat,  she  slipped  her 
self  with  Stephen  into  an  empty  place  further  back. 
There  she  was,  isolated  from  those  two;  where  she 
could  not  even  exchange  looks  with  them ;  where 
her  only  comfort  was  the  thought  that  she  had 
secured  them  an  uninterrupted  time  together.  She, 
had  signed  to  Stephen  to  take  the  seat  next  the 
window;  so  he  was  safe.  Poor  woman!  her  one 
satisfaction  during  that  day's  long  ride,  was  to 
see  those  two  heads  in  the  distance  before  her; 
to  watch  Erick's  dark  curls  of  thick  hair  as  he  was 
perpetually  turning  to  speak  to  Posie;  and  then 
to  note  how  pretty  Posie's  new  bonnet  was,  and 
how  it  too  turned  in  Erick's  direction  very  fre 
quently,  and  nodded  sometimes,  and  altogether 
shewed  that  its  wearer  was  by  no  means  going  to 
sleep  or  having  a  prosy  time.  Besides  this  distant 
view,  all  the  day  was  nothing  but  a  rumble  of  car 
wheels  and  swaying  of  carriages,  and  a  flood  of 
heat  and  a  storm  of  dust.  Views  outside  the  car 
were  nothing  to  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 

"Whereabouts  is  mother?"  Posie  asked,,  when 
they  had  been  some  time  on  the  way. 

"  Behind  us,"  said  Erick  looking  back.  "  Some 
distance  behind.  She  has  put  Mr.  Kay  in  the 
corner.  Or  is  he  the  sort  of  man  who  never  can 
be  cornered?" 


HAPPINESS.  411 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

41  You  know  what  it  is  to  be  in  a  corner?  Cir 
cumstances  shutting  you  up  and  fencing  you  in, 
'so  that  you  don't  know  what  to  do,  and  cannot  do 
anything  you  want  to  do.  In  a  corner,  in  short. 
I  cannot  see  Mr.  Kay's  face,  to  know  how  he 
takes  it." 

"Stephen  is  never  at  a  loss,"  said  Posie;  "if  that 
is  what  you  mean." 

"  Happy  fellow !" 

"No,"— Posie  went  on,— "I  don't  believe  Ste 
phen  could  be  cornered.  He  would  get  out  of  the 
corner,  unless  he  thought  it  was  right  to  stay 
there." 

"  In  which  case  he  would  stay." 

"  Certainly.  And  then,  as  it  would  be  the  place 
where  he  ought  to  be,  he  would  not  feel  in  a  cor 
ner,  you  see." 

"  Happy  fellow !  "  said  Erick  again. 

"He  is  a  happy  fellow,''  said  Posie;  "he  is  the 
happiest  person  I  ever  saw,  by  all  odds." 

"  Isn't  particularly  jovial — "  said  Erick." 

"  He  is  better;  he's  happy" 

"  What  makes  him  happy  ?  " 

Posie  hesitated,  and  her  voice  seemed  to  choke. 
She  knew  that  Erick  was  watching  her.  What 
was  it  indeed  that  made  Stephen  happy  ?  and  how 
should  she  tell  Erick  ? 

"  I  suppose  he  has  a  good  position,"  the  latter 
went  on ;  "  and  is  doing  well  in  business.  Mr. 
Hardenbrook  told  me  as  much  himself." 


412  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Yes, — but  that  sort  of  thing  doesn't  make  peo 
ple  happy, — not  what  I  mean  by  happy." 

"  Pray,  what  do  you  mean  by  happy,  cousin 
Posie  ?  " 

"  When  everything  goes  right  with  you  always," 
Posie  answered  after  an  instant's  hesitation  and 
with  a  charming  smile  at  him. 

"Delightful  idea!  But  that  is  good  fortune, 
isn't  it?  'getting  on'; — -just  what  I  was  talking 
about." 

"Ono!"  said  Posie,  "that  is  not  what  I  mean. 
I  mean, — when  everything  goes  right  with  you,  and 
you  know  it,  even  just  then  when  it  seems  to 
go  wrong.  Just  then!  Isn't  that  being  happy? 
That  is  never  having  things  really  go  wrong  with 
you,  you  know." 

"  But  I  never  heard  of  such  a  man." 

"  Stephen  is  such  a  man,"  said  Posie,  nodding 
emphatically;  one  of  those  nods  which  it  pleased 
Mrs.  Harden  brook  to  observe,  and  which  she  little 
knew  was  given  to  Stephen. 

"  You  are  enigmatical  1 "  said  Erick  laughing. 

"  I  think  Stephen  is,  sometimes." 

"  What  you  describe  sounds  to  me,  I  confess  it, 
less  like  happiness  than  phlegm." 

"  Phlegm  1  "  cried  Posie.  "  You  don't  know 
Stephen." 

"  You  do  ? " 

"  I  ought,  I  should  think.  He  has  been  every 
thing  to  me,  since  I  was  seven  years  old." 

"  He  is  not  related  to  you,  I  think  ?  " 


HAPPINESS.  413 

"  Not  in  any  way.  But  that  don't  make  any  dif 
ference.  He  is  jnst  as  good  as  my  brother." 

"  And  you  think  he  is  not,  just  a  little  bit, 
phlegmatic  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  bit ! "  said  Posie  energetically. 
"He  is  quiet;  but  his  quietness  covers  all  sorts 
of  things,  that  he  keeps  to  himself.  You  know 
the  proverb  about  still  waters." 

"Yes;  but  I  don't  understand  your  definition  of 
happiness.  I  should  venture  to  guess  that  things 
never  had  gone  really  wrong  with  Mr.  Kay;  he 
has  never  been  tried.  Has  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Posie.  "  Since  he  came  to 
as,  perhaps  not;  but  before  he  came  to  us,  certainly 
he  had  hard  times;  and  I  think,  at  one  time,  in  the 
factory.  But  that  is  long  ago." 

" Do  you  think  you  know  what  hard  times  are?" 
asked  Erick,  eyeing  the  pretty  creature  admiringly. 

"0  yes." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  do." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  was  away  from  home  eight  months 
at  a  time,  in  a  boarding  school." 

"  That  is  fearful !" 

"  Well  I  was  very  homesick.  And  do  you  think 
there  is  anything  much  worse  than  homesick 
ness?" 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  know  anything  worse  !  " 
said  Erick  heartily.  "  What  do  you  think  of  this 
dust?" 

"01  don't  mind.  It  will  shake  off.  I  don't  mind 
at  all.  It  is  so  delightful  to  me  to  be  '  going ' !  I 


414  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

don't  mind  anything.  I  only  wish  mother  and 
Stephen  were  not  so  far  off." 

"  They're  all  right,"  said  Erick,  in  a  tone  which 
sounded  content  with  the  arrangement  He  was 
never  weary  of  taking  looks  at  Posie.  She  was 
such  a  pretty  creature  !  so  fresh  and  fair,  very  sweet, 
a  little  piquant,  innocent,  bright,  and  happy.  Her 
blue  eye  had  sense  in  it  too,  though  sense  was  not 
the  predominant  expression ;  one  was  rather  struck 
by  the  soft  wilful  play  of  feature,  which  must  cor 
respond  to  a  like  habit  of  mind.  Erick  puzzled 
himself  trying  to  find  similes  for  her.  Her  fresh 
ness  suggested  various  lovely  images  of  nature;  a 
strawberry  peeping  forth  from  under  its  screen  of 
green  leaves,  a  branch  of  eglantine  swaying  its 
blossoms  in  a  breeze,  a  violet  giving  its  sweetness 
at  your  feet.  Or  was  she  rather  like  a  kitten  with 
sheathed  claws?  Certainly,  if  a  kitten,  with  claws 
sheathed;  there  was  no  scratching  to  be  feared,  in 
any  possible  case.  The  most  absolute  sweetness 
of  temper  and  habit  spoke  in  every  look  and  tone; 
but  she  was  lively,  and  wilful.  And  so  fresh.  It 
was  delightful.  Erick  set  himself  to  entertain  her, 
telling  her  of  many  sights  he  had  seen  in  his  wan 
derings  about  the  world;  and  nothing  more  was 
said  of  Stephen.  In  due  time,  towards  evening, 
New  York  was  reached,  and  the  party  repaired  to 
a  hotel  near  the  Station. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  to  her  daughter 
when  they  found  themselves  alone  in  their  room, 
"  how  has  the  day  been  with  you,  Posie  ?  " 


HAPPINESS.  415 

"0  delightful,  mother!  Erick  has  been  so  en 
tertaining." 

"  I  am  done  over !  "  said  the  other  lady.  "  The 
dust  was  so  frightful,  and  the  heat  was  so  fearful, 
and  the  noise  of  the  cars  was  so  dreadful!  I  am 
just  half  dead.  I  had  nobody  to  amuse  me." 

"Didn't  Stephen  take  care  of  you,  mother?" 

"  He  ?  how  should  he  ?  He  don't  know  how  to 
take  care  of  himself.  It  was  Erick  brought  me  my 
lunch;  Stephen  didn't  know  enough  to  get  it.  A 
nice  person  to  look  after  the  comfort  of  ladies  trav 
elling  !  But  your  father  would  have  it  so." 

"  But  Stephen  would  enjoy  Niagara,  mamma,  as 
much  as  any  of  us." 

"  Are  we  going  for  his  pleasure,  I  want  to  know? 
I  have  no  objection  to  his  seeing  Niagara;  only  I 
would  have  liked  him  to  take  another  time  for  it. 
I  expect  nothing  but  he  will  get  us  into  some 
scrape,  lose  our  baggage  or  forget  our  tickets,  or 
something,  in  his  stupidity." 

"  Mother,  he  is  not  stupid !  And  Stephen  is  the 
last  person  in  the  world  to  get  into  a  scrape.  He 
never  does." 

"  Do  take  that  brush,  Posie,  and  see  if  you  can 
get  some  of  this  dust  off  me." 

They  went  to  dinner,  and  after  dinner  they  drew 
together  in  a  window  of  one  of  the  huge  drawing 
*rooms.  Posie  and  her  mother  sheered  off  naturally 
from  the  neighborhood  of  other  people  in  the  room, 
and  the  window  tempted  them,  looking  out  as  it 
did  into  one  of  the  great  thoroughfares.  It  was 


416  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

unspeakably  interesting  to  watch  the  crowd  coming 
and  going  past;  and  also  now  and  then  to  steal  a 
furtive  glance  to  see  what  was  going  on  behind 
them  in  the  interior  of  the  big  room.  This  latter 
for  Posie  and  her  mother;  Stephen  was  exclusively 
busy  with  what  was  outside,  and  Erick  with  his 
immediate  companions.  At  last  the  street  grew 
dark,  and  the  more  interesting  passengers  disap 
peared  from  it;  gone  home  to  dinner  no  doubt. 
Only  Stephen  still  found  food  for  his  thoughts  in 
what  he  could  see  there.  The  others  gave  up 
trying. 

"  How  has  the  day  been  with  you,  Kay  ?  "  Erick 
asked.  "  Tired  of  the  railway,  aren't  you,  by  this 
time?" 

"  Not  at  all  tired — except  of  sitting  still.  I  should 
like  a  good  walk.  No,  I  have  enjoyed  the  day." 

"  By  what  process  or  potency  of  philosophy  ?  " 

"No  philosophy.  I  was  simply  looking  at  the 
world,  so  much  as  I  could  see  of  it.  You  will  re 
member,  that  my  eyes  have  had  little  to  do  with  it 
hitherto." 

"  But  what  under  heaven  could  you  see,  between 
Cowslip  and  here  ?  " 

"  Everything  under  heaven,"  said  Stephen  smil 
ing.  "  I  saw  the  country,  the  crops,  the  trees,  the 
houses,  and  the  men  and  women." 

"  All  pretty  much  alike,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"They  did  not  seem  so  to  me." 

"Kay,  we  had  a  metaphysical  discussion  in  the 
cars,  Miss  Posie  and  I,  about  which  I  should  like 


HAPPINESS.  417 

to  ask  your  opinion.  You  see,  we  could  not  find 
amusement  so  easily  as  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  we  did  not  understand  crops,  did  not  see 
the  trees  and  houses,  and  were  not  interested  in 
the  men  and  women.  It's  all  an  old  story  to  rne, 
you  know."  Stephen  thought  he  could  now  under 
stand  something  he  had  once  heard,  and  did  not  un 
derstand,  about  a  "law  of  compensation  " ;  but  accord 
ing  to  habit  he  did  not  speak  his  thought.  Talking, 
at  least  in  company,  was  never  Stephen's  forte. 

"  You  seem  to  find  entertainment  now,  iu  the 
dark,"  Erick  went  on. 

"  I  do.  I  am  just  learning  what  a  big  place  the 
world  is." 

"  Pray  what  part  of  the  world  are  you  looking 
at,  if  one  may  ask  ?  " 

"Those  beautiful  gas  lights." 

"  Never  saw  gas  until  now  ?  " 

"Never." 

"  Well  I  envy  you  what  is  before  you.  To  look 
at  the  world  for  the  first  time,  and  with  your  eyes, 
must  be  an  experience  !  " 

"  It's  rather  a  bewildering  experience,"  said  Ste 
phen.  "  The  contrasts  among  the  people  that  have 
gone  by  here  for  this  hour  past, — ." 

"  Contrasts  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  "  Con 
trasts  are  fashionable.  Every  colour  is  trimmed 
with  a  different  colour.  The  contrasts  are  beautiful. 
I  noticed  a  rich  purple  silk  a  while  ago,  trimmed 
with  a  border  of  black  and  gold ;  it  was  lovely." 


418  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen,  "and  just  behind  her  came 
a  little  barefooted  girl,  ragged  and  dirty,  with  a 
basket  of  fruit  a  great  deal  too  heavy  for  her ;  she 
had  not  sold  half  of  it." 

"It  was  covered  up,  Stephen;  how  could  you 
Bee  ?  "  asked  Posie. 

"  The  weight  of  the  basket  bent  her  into  a  half 
moon.  And  then  came  a  workman  with  a  box  of 
tools  at  his  back,  and  a  tired  step,  and  an  anxious 
face." 

"  Something  had  gone  wrong  with  him,"  said 
Erick  lightly.  "  1  dare  say  the  lady  with  the  pur 
ple  silk  had  an  anxious  face  too." 

"  She  had." 

"  You  see,  something  had  gone  wrong  with  her. 
Kay,  turn  about,  you  can't  study  faces  now;  what 
a  fellow  you  are  !  Come  back  to  our  metaphysics, 
and  settle  our  question  for  us.  Tell  me;  can  a 
man  be  happy  when  things  are  going  wrong  with 
him?" 

"  Is  that  metaphysics  ?  "  said  Stephen. 

"Yes.     Answer." 

"  I  should  say,  he  could  not." 

"  Ah !  That  is  what  I  thought.  Posie  main 
tained  the  contrary,  and  cited  you  as  an  ex 
ample." 

Stephen  said  nothing  to  that. 

"Why  can't  he,  Stephen?"  asked  the  young  lady. 
"  I  thought  you  said, — I  thought  you  thought, — " 

"  If  things  go  wrong  with  a  man,"  Stephen  went 
on,  "  it  is  because  the  man  is  going  wrong." 


HAPPINESS.  419 

There  was  a  chorus  here  of  exclamations  and 
objections. 

"  0  no,  Stephen  ! "— "  What  absurd  nonsense !  "-— 
"Bat  my  dear  fellow !  that's  untenable." 

"Prove  it  so,"  said  Stephen  calmly. 

"  Why  it's  a  matter  *of  everyday  observation. 
Take  your  man  with  the  anxious  face  and  the  tools 
at  his  back.  He  is  out  of  work  perhaps,  and  does 
not  know  where  to  get  more,  and  has  a  wife  and 
children.  Or,  the  wife  may  be  sick,  and  the  chil 
dren  and  the  house  are  going  to — well,  going  to 
destruction.  Or  he  is  ill  himself.  Is  that  his 
fault  ? — in  either  case  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"Perhaps  not !" 

"All  three  things  might  be  his  fault." 

"  They  might.  Assume,  for  the  sake  of  the  ar 
gument,  that  they  are  not." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  then  what  becomes  of  your  assertion  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  proved  yet  that  things  are  going 
wrong  with  him." 

Here  came  another  chorus  of  outcries. 

"With  wife  and  children  sick!" — "  With  no  work 
and  no  money  and  no  prospects  !  " — "  Except  the 
prospect  of  leaving  his  family  destitute !  What 
do  you  mean,  Kay  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  things  going  wrong  with 
a  man  ?  " 

Several  voices  answered  again  at  once.  "Why 
just  what  we  have  said." — "Sickness  and  poverty." — 


420  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Want  and  trouble.  Why  Stephen,  aren't  things 
going  wrong  with  a  man  tJien?  When  he  is  in 
want  and  trouble  ?  " 

"  Not  necessarily.     Not  always." 

"  What  stuff ! "  cried  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  scornfully. 

"  Explain — "  said  Erick. 

"  Are  things  going  wrong  with  a  man,  that  are 
to  help  and  not  to  hinder  him  ?  " 

"No!     But—" 

Posie  broke  in.  "  Stephen,  how  can  sickness 
and  poverty  be  any  thing  but  a  hindrance  ?  " 

"They  can,"  said  Stephen.  "I  only  mean  this. 
If  a  man  is  going  wrong  himself, — not  serving 
God  nor  doing  his  will, — God  is  against  him  and 
things  are  against  him,  just  to  drive  him  back  into 
the  way  he  has  quitted  or  maybe  never  entered. 
But  if  he  is  doing  his  duty  and  living  right,  serv 
ing  God, — then,  '  if  God  be  for  us,  who,' — or  what — 
'can  be  against  us  ? '  It  is  impossible." 

"But  it  is  everyday  experience,"  said  Erick. 

"  No,  only  seeming.  The  promise  stands  against 
it." 

"  What  promise  ?  " 

"'All  things  shall  work  together  for  good'  to 
him.  'Things  present  and  things  to  come,  all  are 
yours,' — if  you  are  Christ's." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Then  we  come  to  our  question,  Kay,"  Erick 
said.  "You  think  a  man  can  be  happy  when 
things  are  going  wrong  with  him — or  seeming  to 
go  wrong  ? — happy  ?  " 


HAPPINESS.  421 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen.  "But  as  I  said,  things 
never  do  go  wrong  with  him,  if  he  follows  Christ. 
And  he  knows  that,  or  he  ought  to  know  it." 

"  Suppose  a  case.  Suppose  the  dearest  wishes 
of  your  heart  were  brought  to  nothing;  and  you 
left  with  nothing  in  the  world  you  cared  about? 
Do  you  think  you  could  still  be  happy  in  that 
case  ?  Such  things  happen." 

"I  do  riot  know,"  said  Stephen.  "  I  have  never 
been  tried." 

"  I  am  glad  there  is  a  remnant  of  sense  left  in 
you  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Harden  brook. 

"But  I  want  to  understand  your  theory,"  Erick 
persisted.  "  Do  you  think  happiness  is  possible 
under  such  circumstances?" 

"  Suppose  something  else  first.  Suppose  1  love 
the  will  of  God  better  than  my  own  ?  " 

There  was  silence. 

"  Does  anybody  really  ?  "  asked  Erick. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  anybody  who  does  not,  can 
be  what  I  call  happy,  in  any  circumstances." 

"  Why  not,  Stephen  ?  "  came  in  a  somewhat  timid 
question  from  the  lips  of  the  fourth  person. 

"Because,  that  is  the  will  which  will  be  done, 
Posie,"  Stephen  answered  in  a  tone  of  correspond 
ing  gentleness. 

"If  you  go  to  the  bottom  of  things,  everyone 
really  must  prefer  his  own  will,  I  should  think," 
said  Erick. 

"Then  how  can  he  say  the  Lord's  prayer?" 

"  Stephen  Kay,  come  to  the  practical  and  leave 


422  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

theories !  Yon  yourself,  honestly,  what  is  the  fact 
with  yourself?  Whose  will  is  really  dearest  to 
you  ?  Don't  you  want  to  have  your  own  way, 
like  other  people  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Stephen  smiling, — "  if  it  is  also  God's 
way;  otherwise  I  would  rather  not." 

"  Suppose  his  will  took  from  you  all  you  care  for  ?  " 

u  I  should  suffer,  like  other  people,  no  doubt. 
The  difference  would  be,  that  the  will  I  love  best 
is  done.  It  is  always  done," — Stephen  added,  with 
an  indescribable  shade  of  expression  which  made 
Erick  for  the  moment  dumb.  It  was  something 
involuntary  and  quite  impossible  to  feign ;  a  hidden 
ring  of  steadfast  content  and  joy,  before  which 
theories  and  objections  fell  back  ashamed.  In  the 
dusk  Stephen's  face  could  not  be  seen. 

"Now  you  know  what  I  mean,  cousin  Erick," 
Posie  said  presently. 

"  It's  the  most  ridiculous  talk  /  ever  heard  in  my 
life  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  "  It  puts  me 
out  of  all  patience  to  hear  it.  It's  nothing  but 
mere  affectation,  to  hear  a  man  talk  so,  and  he 
not  a  clergyman  either;  if  he  were,  one  could  for 
give  him  for  talking  in  the  air  a  little;  but  it  is 
downright  blasphemy,  /  think,  to  say  such  things 
about  happiness  and  Providence,  and  absurd  be 
sides,  for  it  is  impossible !  " 

**  Dear  mother !  "  said  Posie,  "  you  forget  what 
blasphemy  is." 

ult's  improper  talk,  aint  it?  and  I  hope  I  know 
what  is  improper.  I  ought,  at  this  time  of  day." 


HAPPINESS.  423 

Stephen  jumped  up  and  said  he  was  going  for  a 
walk;  and  Erick  went  with  him. 

"  There  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook, — "  now  he  has 
gone  and  carried  Erick  off ! — and  we  are  left  alone. 
I  do  wish  he  could  have  staid  at  home,  where  he 
belongs." 

"  Mother,  don't !  "  said  Posie.  "  He  is  as  good  as 
he  can  be." 

"He's  as  good,  maybe,  as  a  fool  can  be.  But 
just  look  at  the  difference  between  him  and  Erick." 

The  difference  was  marked,  and  manifold.  Posie 
spent  the  rest  of  the  evening  till  their  return  in 
studying  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
CAR-FARE. 

HPHE  evening  walk  of  the  two  young  men  was 
1  prolonged,  much  to  Erick's  amusement  and 
to  Stephen's  delight.  Stephen's  curiosity  was  in 
satiable,  his  interest  in  all  manner  of  things  inex 
haustible;  and  his  companion  watched  with  secret 
pleasure  the  manifestations  of  both.  Of  course  Ste 
phen's  ignorance  of  the  features  of  a  great  city  and 
of  the  life  that  is  led  there,  was  huge.  He  was  not 
ashamed  of  it,  and  frankly  applied  to  Erick  for 
information  whenever  his  own  natural  sense  and 
shrewdness  could  not  get  at  the  meaning  of  things 
he  saw;  but  Erick  was  surprised  to  find  how  often 
this  information  was  unnecessary.  No  other  sort 
of  conversation  took  place  between  them.  Several 
times  it  happened  that  Stephen  would  turn  into 
some  great  store,  and  look  with  charmed  eager 
ness  at  all  he  could  see  of  its  arrangements. 

One  of  these  places  was  a  large  bookstore,  very 
sumptuous  in  its  fittings  and  magnificent  in  its 
wares  displayed  on  tables,  and  shelves,  and  counters. 
Here  Stephen  made  some  stay,  examining  bindings, 


CAR-FARE.  425 

looking  at  engravings,  and  reading  titles  of  the 
books.  At  last  Erick,  who  had  wandered  away  in 
search  of  something  he  wanted,  coming  back,  found 
Stephen  standing  by  one  of  the  tables  with  a  small 
volume  in  his  hand  and  completely  absorbed  in 
reading.  He  started  when  Erick  touched  him, 
nodded,  went  up  to  one  of  the  clerks  and  asked 
the  price  of  the  book.  It  was  somewhat  high  for 
its  size  and  also  for  the  size  of  Stephen's  finances; 
however,  it  was  purchased  and  paid  for  without 
hesitation;  and  with  the  volume  in  his  pocket  and 
an  air  of  undisguised  satisfaction,  Stephen  left  the 
shop.  Erick  was  about  to  ask  a  question,  when  some 
other  subject  was  started ;  and  during  the  rest  of 
the  walk  he  never  got  back  to  the  book.  He  re 
turned  to  the  hotel,  I  may  remark,  with  his  opinion 
of  his  companion  a  good  deal  raised.  He  had  found 
Stephen  not  only  full  of  curiosity,  but  also  full  of 
quick  appreciation  ;  with  a  ready  intelligence,  and 
a  most  sound  and  independent  power  of  judging. 
"Quiet  as  he  is,  he  is  no  common  fellow," — was 
Erick's  private  conclusion. 

The  next  morning  all  was  business.  An  early 
breakfast,  an  early  rush  to  the  cars,  and  then  the 
rumble  began  again.  As  before,  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
had  contrived  to  let  Posie  and  Erick  go  in  together ; 
but  this  time  there  was  plenty  of  room,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  take  her  seat,  and  to  let  Stephen,  imme 
diately  behind  the  other  two. 

In  the  early  beauty  of  the  August  morning  the 
Hudson  with  its  rocky  western  shore  was  something 


426  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

delightful  to  look  upon.  Soft  haze  lingering  here 
and  there,  a  splendour  of  slant  sunbeams,  cool  col 
ours  which  would  soon  be  hot  and  therefore  were  the 
more  prized,  a  slight  stir  of  northerly  air,  though 
that  was  perhaps  simulated  by  the  motion  of  the 
cars;  all  this  made  the  hour  exceedingly  delicious. 
Erick  pointed  out  places,  so  far  as  he  knew  them, 
to  Posie.  Posie  was  in  raptures.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
having  arranged  herself  to  be  comfortable,  at  least 
as  much  as  possible,  never  looked  out  at  all.  Ste 
phen  sat  with  folded  arms  gazing  from  the  win 
dow,  wrapped  apparently  in  enjoyment  and  in 
thought.  Now  and  then  Posie  glanced  back  at  the 
two  behind  her. 

"  Stephen  is  having  a  good  time,"  she  remarked 
with  a  smile  to  Erick. 

"I  envy  him.     He's  taking  it  all  in." 

"  Why  are  not  you  ?  "  asked  the  subject  of  their 
remarks. 

'  "How  could  you  hear  what  I  said?"  returned 
Erick  twisting  himself  round.  "  I  have  taken  it  in, 
old  fellow.  I've  seen  it  before." 

Stephen's  thoughts  were  not  complimentary.  He 
thought,  if  Erick  had  taken  it  all  in,  he  had  never 
seen  it !  "  There's  more  than  I  could  take  in  in  a 
life-time,"  he  said. 

Erick  turned  again  to  attend  to  Posie;  and  for 
hours  there  was  no  more  intercourse  between  the 
two  pairs.  To  the  rocks  of  the  Palisades  succeeded 
the  wide  reaches  of  Haverstraw  bay  and  Tappan 
sea;  the  sun  rose  higher  and  hotter  and  shone  yel- 


CAR-FARE.  427 

low  upon  the  white  marble  walls  of  Sing  Sing;  then 
the  river  shores  began  to  close  in  ahead,  and  the 
train  stopped  for  its  ten  minutes  at  Peekskill.  All 
this  while  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  had  noticed  that  the 
two  young  people  before  her  had  plenty  to  say  to 
each  other;  and  that  Stephen  still  sat  with  folded 
arms,  gazing  and  gazing,  arid  hardly  stirred  hand 
or  foot. 

"  Well ! — "  said  Erick,  looking  round  as  the  train 
slowly  glided  up  to  the  station.  "How  do  you 
do?"" 

"  It's  awfully  hot !  "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 

"Hot?  0  mother!"  said  Posie,  "it  is  just  pleas 
ant.  How  are  you  getting  along,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  It's"better  than  yesterday,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  think  so  too,"  said  Posie.  "The  river 
is  pretty,  isn't  it  ? ?} 

You  are !  was  Stephen's  mental  answer,  but  he 
kept  it  unspoken.  Posie's  face  was  so  fresh,  so 
bright  with  youth  and  pleasure  and  sweetness;  a 
little  flush  on  her  cheeks,  it  might  have  been  ex 
citement,  though  Stephen  laid  it  to  the  account  of 
the  August  day;  a  shining  in  her  blue  eyes,  which 
seemed  to  have  sympathy  for  everybody;  and  the 
rosy,  pretty,  variable  mouth  just  parted  with  a  half 
smile.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  saw  it  all  too,  and 
thought  the  heart  must  be  hard  that  could  with 
stand  her. 

"  We  are  just  at  the  entrance  of  the  Highlands, 
Erick  says,"  she  went  on. 

"What  are  the  Highlands?"  Stephen  asked. 


428  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  The  best  part  of  the  river,  he  says. 

"  Some  people  prefer  the  Catskill  region,"  Erick 
added. 

"If  it's  better  than  what  we've  had,  it  will  be 
very  good ! "  said  Stephen,  opening  his  arms  and 
refolding  them,  as  if  to  be  in  readiness  for  what  the 
further' way  might  bring. 

"  Kay,  I  envy  you,"  Erick  repeated. 

"What?" 

"Your  enjoyment.  Your  power  of  enjoyment, 
/never  got  so  much  out  of  the  Hudson  river." 

It  crossed  Stephen's  mind  that  Erick  had  the 
best  of  it  however,  inasmuch  as  he  sat  by  Posie  and 
had  her  good  company  quite  to  himself.  He  would 
have  liked  to  be  in  Erick's  place,  and  would  have 
found  it  a  great  enhancement  of  his  pleasure.  He 
folded  his  arms  over  his  loss,  and  gave  himself  up  to 
the  pleasure  that  remained  to  him.  And  as  the 
train  rushed  round  Anthony's  nose  and  through  the 
tunnel,  and  then  swept  up  along  the  beautiful  shore, 
where  the  hills  are  highest  and  the  river  narrow 
est,  I  confess  he  forgot  that  anything  could  bo 
wanting  to  him,  and  breathed  and  lived  for  the 
moment  in  the  sense  of  wonder  and  beauty.  Past 
West  Point,  which  Erick  pointed  out,  past  the 
Crow's  Nest  and  Butter  Hill,  under  the  tunnel  at 
Breakneck,  and  out  upon  Newburgh  bay. 

"  The  best  is  past  now,"  observed  Erick. 

"This  will  do  pretty  well,"  answered  Stephen, 
looking  over  the  broad  waters  to  where  the  houses 
of  Newburgh  climb  up  their  steep  bank. 


CAR-FARE.  429 

"  It's  getting  unbearably  hot ! "  said  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook. 

"  I'll  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  when  we  come  to 
Poughkeepsie,"  said  Erick.  "  Or  lemonade,  if  you 
like  that  better.  We  will  lunch  at  Albany,  and 
can  lunch  very  well  there,  too." 

"  It's  the  one  comfort  of  travelling !  "  said  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook, — "  that  one's  meals  taste  so  good." 

Accordingly  she  did  enjoy  her  cup  of  tea  at  Pough 
keepsie;  but  the  rest  of  the  way  was  sadly  tiresome 
to  the  poor  lady.  Erick  and  Posie  were  getting  on 
nicely,  she  saw;  so  she  tried  to  go  to  sleep;  while 
Stephen  was  lost  again  in  delighted  wonder  from  the 
time  the  range  of  the  Catskill  came  into  view.  He 
watched  their  blue  outlines  as  they  rose  nearer  and 
nearer;  studied  all  that  could  be  seen  of  their  forms; 
fed  his  eye  on  their  lights  and  shadows;  and  was 
sorry  when  at  last  after  many  a  mile  of  beauty  the 
mountains  were  slowly  left  behind.  However,  if 
beauty  for  the  time  failed  him,  discovery  still  re 
mained;  and  Stephen  could  have  stood  an  exami 
nation  on  the  character  of  the  upper  reaches  of  the 
river  by  the  time  they  reached  Albany. 

Here  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  roused  herself.  Erick 
had  carried  Posie  off  to  get  some  refreshment,  and 
Stephen  was  waiting  to  attend  Posie's  mother. 

"I  think  I  won't  get  out,"  said  the  lady;  "it's 
such  a  bother,  and  I'm  always  so  afraid  I  shall  get 
left;  and  there's  such  a  horrid  confusion  of  every 
thing  between  here  and  the  lunch  room.  I'll  let 
you  bring  me  something,  Stephen;  that  will  be 


430  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

best. — What? — 0  anything  you  like;  anything 
you  find;  only  make  haste,  or  you  won't  have  time 
to  get  me  anything,  Stephen! — I  would  like  a  cap 
of  tea;  that  cup  of  tea  was  so  good  at  Poughkeepsie." 

Stephen  ran  off;  brought  the  tea  and  an  assort 
ment  of  other  things  less  unsubstantial;  sat  down 
with  a  sandwich  in  his  hand  to  await  the  clearing 
of  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  cup  and  plate,  which  must 
be  carried  back  again ;  and  studied  the  varied  life 
of  the  Station,  so  as  he  could  from  the  car  window, 
while  he  munched  his  bread  and  ham.  Mrs.  Har 
den  brook  sipped  her  tea,  which  was  very  hot,  and 
meanwhile  made  the  most  of  the  other  viands;  de 
livering  at  last  her  empty  cup  and  dish  to  Stephen 
when  he  had  but  just  time  to  scamper  back  and 
restore  them  and  scamper  again  over  the  lines  of 
rails  to  regain  his  place  in  the  car.  While  he  was 
gone  on  this  errand,  Posie  and  her  attendant  came 
in,  with  that  unmistakeable  air  of  contentment  which 
people  wear  when  they  have  lunched  to  their  satis 
faction.  Though  I  should  have  remarked  that  the 
Hardenbrooks  called  it  dinner. 

"Well,  mother  dear,"  said  Posie, — "did  Stephen 
bring  you  anything  good  ?  did  you  make  any  sort 
of  a  dinner?" 

"  He  did  as  well  as  he  knew  how,  I  suppose,"  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  answered,  raising  her  eyebrows.  "  I 
suppose  he  left  all  the  best  things.  I  was  very 
glad  you  had  Erick  to  attend  to  you,  darling.  It 
did  not  matter  about  my  dinner.  What  did  vou 
have?" 


CAR-FARE.  431 

"0  just  ham  sandwiches  and  coffee,  and  cake; 
pretty  good." 

11  Why  that's  just  what  I  had !  " 

"And  Erick  got  me  some  peaches — see, — lovely 
peaches;  and  he  has  got  some  for  you,  mother." 

"  How  much  luncheon  did  you  get  ?  "  asked  Erick 
in  a  sly  aside  to  Stephen  as  he  came  in. 

"  '  Man  wants  but  little  here  below ' — when  he  is 
travelling,"  Stephen  answered  good-humouredly ; 
and  resumed  his  place  and  folded  his  arms  again  as 
the  train  slowly  moved  off.  Erick  looked  at  him  as 
at  something  of  a  study,  before  he  himself  took  his 
seat.  After  that,  things  went  on  as  in  the  morning. 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  satisfied  with  the  condition  of 
affairs  before  her,  went  to  sleep;  Stephen  studied 
the  valley  of  the  Mohawk;- and  Erick  and  Posie  en 
tertained  each  other.  But  it  may  be  said  respecting 
the  general  course  of  these  two  days'  travelling, 
that  as  they  went  on,  by  degrees  Erick  found  the 
way  more  and  more  enjoyable,  while  Stephen's  en 
joyment  was  rather  on  the  wane. 

After  the  Mohawk  valley  was  left  behind,  his  at 
tention  was  less  securely  held  by  the  passing  objects 
without  the  car.  A  little  of  it  now  and  then  went 
to  Posie  and  her  companion  just  in  front  of  him. 
Posie  was  wide  awake,  that  he  saw;  and  not  intent 
on  the  outside  view.  She  was  talking,  he  could  see, 
though  he  could  not  hear  much;  and  Erick  was 
talking,  and  had  plenty  to  say.  Brick's  face  was 
open  to  his  scrutiny,  and  it  was  the  face  of  a  person 
a  good  deal  engaged  with  what  was  beside  him. 


432  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Why  should  he  himself  be  shut  up  so  in  a  corner, 
and  another  man  enjoy  his  privilege  of  taking  care 
of  Posie  ?  Posie  was  his  own  charge ;  had  been  his 
charge  ever  since  she  was  seven  years  old;  what 
right  had  this  fellow,  good  fellow  though  he  were, 
to  step  into  the  place  and  do  the  service  which  be 
longed  to  his  own  especial  prerogative  ?  Stephen 
was  in  no  sense  a  selfish  person;  nevertheless  it 
crossed  his  mind  in  this  connection  that  Erick's 
holiday  would  come -to  an  end  in  a  few  weeks  more, 
and  with  the  holiday  his  visit;  and  that  with  the 
end  of  the  visit  would  come  also  an  end  to  this  ab 
normal  state  of  things  and  matters  would  fall  again 
into  their  old  train.  With  a  movement  half  of 
patience  and  half  of  impatience,  Stephen  again 
opened  his  arms  and  refolded  them,  and  set  him 
self  to  wait. 

The  hot  day  moved  on;  the  sun  had  long  passed 
the  meridian ;  the  shadows  of  the  trees  began  to 
grow  in  length.  About  five  o'clock  the  train  paused 
at  Utica.  Here  Stephen  rushed  out,  as  there  was 
to  be  a  delay  of  a  few  minutes,  and  presently  re 
turned  with  a  red  book  in  his  hand,  which  he  fell 
to  studying.  The  onward  way  from  this  point 
seemed  long.  Conversation  flagged  even  between 
Erick  and  Posie.  By  degrees  it  grew  dusk,  and  then 
dark;  but  the  train  rumbled  on.  It  was  near  mid 
night  when  our  four  travellers,  with  some  other 
tired  people,  were  finally  left  by  the  cars  at  Ni 
agara  Falls.  To  get  to  their  rooms  in  the  hotel, 
and  wash  the  dust  from  their  faces,  and  next  to 


CAR-FARE.  433 

nave  supper,  were  naturally  the  first  things  to  be 
done.  Four  glad  faces  were  presently  seen  round 
the  table. 

"I'm  half  dead  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  "  Posie, 
now  you  do  stand  it !  " 

"She  does  more  than  stand  it,"  said  Erick;  "  she 
helps  other  people  to  stand  it." 

"Why  it  has  been  great  fun,"  said  Posie;  "all 
the  way  from  home  here.  Stephen,  what  have  you 
made  of  it? — poor  fellow,  in  your  corner,  with 
mother  asleep ! " 

A  glance  of  Erick's  eye  was  quite  intelligible  to 
Stephen  who  received  it,  but  his  own  was  immove- 
able.  "I  have  enjoyed  it  very  much,"  he  said. 
"  Is  your  room  right  ?  " 

"  Capital,  thank  you.  And  to  think  that  we  are 
at  Niagara !  I  never  expected  it,  or  anything  half 
so  good.  And  to  stay  here  till  Monday !  It  is  so 
nice  not  to  be  in  a  hurry.  Isn't  this  fish  most  de 
licious  ?  What  sort  of  fish  is  it  ?  " 

"  White  fish.     From  the  lakes,"  Erick  answered. 

"We  never  get  anything  so  good  at  Cowslip. 
What  is  tha  first  thing  we  must  do,  now  we  are 
here?" 

"  Go  to  bed,  and  take  a  long  sleep,"  said  Stephen, 
"  and  leave  business  till  to-morrow." 

And  so  it  befel. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

NIAGARA. 

NEXT  day  business  began  in  earnest.  At  break 
fast  the  question  arose,  "  Where  shall  we  go 
first?" 

uTo  the  ferry,"  suggested  Stephen.  "Begin  with 
what  is  easiest." 

"How  do  you  know,  here,  what  is  easiest?" 
Posie  demanded. 

"I  have  been  there;  and  nothing  can  be  easier." 

"You  have  been  there?  0  Stephen!  Without  us! 
How  could  you  ?  " 

"Couldn't  help  it.  You  all  seemed  to  be  in  no 
hurry,  and  I  couldn't  lose  the  time." 

"Time?  "  echoed  Posie. 

"  It  is  nine  o'clock,"  said  Erick  smiling. 

"Well,  we  are  going  to  stay  until  Monday.  We 
have  plenty  of  time.  It  was  very  wicked  of  you, 
Stephen." 

"  Turns  out  to  your  advantage,"  said  he.  "  You 
see,  it  puts  me  in  condition  to  give  you  good 
advice." 

"  I  thought  you  were  always  ready  to  do  that,"  re- 


NIAGARA.  435 

marked  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  "Is  there  always  such 
a  horrible  noise  here  ?  " 

"  We  are  just  over  the  rapids,"  said  Erick.  "  And 
so  many  pailfuls  of  water  cannot  be  poured  out  at 
once  without  making  some  splash." 

"  The  sound  has  been  heard  as  far  as  Toronto," 
Stephen  added. 

"Where  is  Toronto?" 

"  Over  forty  miles  away." 

"Has  been  heard"  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  repeated. 
"I  suppose  then  it  is  always  heard  there." 

"No,"  said  Stephen;  "sometimes  it  is  scarcely 
noticed  only  a  mile  or  two  away." 

"But  that's  impossible!"  said  the  lady  cuttingly. 
"  A  noise  is  a  noise ;  you  may  shut  your  ears,  but 
if  you  keep  them  open  you  cannot  help  hearing  it. 
Niagara  doesn't  stop,  I  suppose." 

Stephen  did  not  repeat  his  statement. 

"  I  believe  however,"  said  Erick,  "  there  is  a 
difference  in  the  way  sound  travels.  Noises  can 
be  heard  some  times,  and  not  heard  some  other 
times." 

"Because  you  are  thinking  of  something  else. 
I  often  sit  before  the  fire  and  do  not  hear  the  clock 
strike  on  the  mantelpiece.  I  often  do  that.  It  is 
just  because  I  am  thinking  of  something  else." 

"  There  is  more  in  it  than  that,  aunt  Maria.  But 
I  cannot  explain  it,  and  I  do  not  believe  anybody 
else  can.  Now  shall  we  go,  and  endeavour  to 
catch  up  with  this  fellow,  who  has  been  before 
hand  with  us  ?  " 


436  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

So  in  a  few  minutes  they  were  descending  the 
long  stairway,  and  stood  at  its  foot,  at  the  edge  of 
the  American  fall.  For  some  little  time  they  all 
stood  and  gazed. 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  anything  so  very  wonder 
ful,"  was  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  pronounced  judgment 
then.  Stephen  brought  his  eyes  from  the  fall  to 
look  at  her,  and  Posie  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  mother !  "— 

"I  don't  see  it,"  repeated  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 
"It  is  just  like  any  other  waterfall,  only  there  is 
more  of  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  green  water  before  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I've  seen  brown.  Water  must  be  some 
colour.  What  makes  it  green  ?  " 

"Will  you  go  out  in  the  boat,  aunt  Maria,  and 
take  a  general  view  ?  "  Erick  proposed. 

"  Out  on  that  water  ?  No,  I  thank  you,  Erick ! 
I  have  some  regard  for  my  life  yet,  though  I  don't 
suppose  it  is  of  much  consequence  to  anybody  else. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  will  expect  you  to  bring  me  back 
safe  though,  I  warn  you." 

"  Will  you  go  in  the  boat,  Posie  ?  They  are  just 
coming  over;  it  will  be  here  in  a  moment." 

Posie  hesitated,  but  finally  said  she  would.  Ste 
phen  of  course  was  bound  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Har 
denbrook.  Erick  helped  Posie  into  the  boat,  and 
the  two  others  stood  on  the  rocks  looking  after 
them  and  watching  how  the  boiling  waters  danced 
the  skiff  up  and  down.  Stephen  wished  himself 
there.  He  saw  that  Erick  was  talking  and  point- 


NIAGARA.  437 

ing  out  things,  and  that  Posie  was  not  at  all  con 
cerned  about  the  water  under  her  but  only  intent 
on  what  was  before  her.  Was  Erick  to  have  all 
the  pleasure  of  attending  upon  her?  It  went  a 
little  against  the  grain  with  him ;  but  of  course, — 
some  one  must  stay  with  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  and 
it  was  right  he  should  be  the  one.  So  he  stood 
looking  after  the  two  in  the  boat,  rather  longingly. 
How  he  would  have  liked  to  shew  Posie  everything, 
and  explain  everything  to  her !  He  forgot  Niagara 
and  the  green  water. 

"  She'll  be  sick ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 
"  It's  ridiculous  to  go  such  fool  hardy  ways.  It's 
very  dangerous !  Look  how  they  do  toss  up  and 
down !  " 

"  There  is  no  danger,"  said  Stephen. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"That  boat  has  been  ferrying  here  now  for 
years;  and  there  has  never  been  the  slightest 
accident." 

"  I  hear  every  now  and  then  of  an  accident — or 
I  read  it  in  the  papers.  Somebody  is  lost  here 
every  summer." 

"  But  not  in  the  ferry." 

"  There  must  be  a  first  time.  0  they  are  coming 
back."— 

"  0  mother !  "  cried  Posie,  as  soon  as  she  set  foot 
to  land, — "  there's  more  of  it !  " 

"  More  of  what  ?  " 

"  More  of  the  falls !  This  is  only  the  beginning. 
You  can't  see  it  here;  but  up  that  way, — half  a 


438  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

mile  off,  Erick  says,  there  is  a  tremendous  big  fall 
• — three  times  as  large  as  this;  and  a  great  column 
of  spray  going  up.  0  it's  beautiful !  " 

Both  the  young  men  seemed  to  apply  the  epithet 
only  to  the  speaker  at  that  moment.  Mrs.  Harden- 
brook  saw  the  eyes  that  looked  at  her,  and  was  in 
wardly  satisfied. 

"  One  is  enough  for  me,  child,"  she  said.  "  Now 
do  let  us  get  up  to  the  top  again ;  we  shall  be  all 
wet  with  this  fine  rain." 

They  mounted  the  stairs,  but  Erick  took  care  of 
Posie ;  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  leaned  upon  Stephen. 

"  Where  now  ?  "  said  Posie,  when  they  were  all 
together  at  the  top.  ' 

It  was  decided  that  Goat  Island  must  be  their 
next  point.  At  the  bridge  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  star 
tled  and  stayed  her  foot. 

"  Must  we  go  across  there  ?  " 

"Certainly.  That  is  Goat  Island,  stretching 
along  yonder,  mother." 

"What's  Goat  Island?  We  came  to  see  the 
Falls." 

"You  see  them  best  from  Goat  Island,  aunt 
Maria.  We  must  go  there  to  get  the  views  of  the 
Falls;  that  is,  for  the  American  side." 

"  But  that  is  dreadful,  that  water !  The  bridge 
can't  be  safe.  That  furious  rush  will  tear  it  away, 
some  day." 

"Not  to-day,"  said  Erick  laughing.  "Come, 
aunt  Maria!  there's  really  no  danger  whatever." 

"That  is  exactly  what  every  man  says,  until 


NIAGARA.  439 

something  dreadful  happens;  and  then  he  says  it 
is  carelessness,  and  goes  on  again." 

"  It  generally  is  carelessness,"  remarked  Stephen. 

"  What  comfort  is  that  ? "  demanded  the  lady 
sharply.  And  I  do'  not  know  that  she  would  ever 
have  gone  on,  only  that  she  reflected  she  could  not 
keep  Stephen  with  her,  and  he  would  certainly 
attach  himself  to  Posie.  So  she  gripped  his  arm 
and  went  over  the  bridge,  declaring  all  the  way 
that  she  did  not  approve  of  it.  Arrived  at  Iris 
Island,  they  prepared  to  descend  another  flight  of 
steps  to  the  shore  below. 

"  What  are  we  going  down  here  for  ? "  she 
demanded,  pausing  at  the  top.  "  It's  perfectly 
dreadful !  Stephen,  I  am  frightened  to  death." 

"  They  have  gone  down,"  said  Stephen,  indicat 
ing  Posie  and  her  cavalier,  whose  heads  were  al 
ready  some  distance  below. 

"What's  down  there?" 

"The  Cave  of  the  Winds." 

"I  don't  care  for  any  more  wind  than  we  can 
get  up  here.  Ridiculous!  We  came  to  see  the 
water,  not  the  wind.  I  won't  go,  Stephen." 

Neither  would  she  be  persuaded.  Sorely  against 
his  will,  Stephen  was  forced  to  escort  her  further 
on,  to  the  end  of  the  bridge,  where  on  Goat  Island 
he  found  her  a  seat  commanding  the  river  and  the 
opposite  Canada  shore.  Here  in  the  warm  August 
sun  it  was  most  lovely;  the  heat  seemed  tempered, 
or  else  it  was  fancy;  but  indeed  there  could  be  no 
dryness  of  air  where  fine  spray  was  rising  from  all 


440  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

sides.  Under  the  evergreens  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
sat  down,  and  fanned  herself.  Stephen  would  have 
run  back  to  the  Cave  of  the  Winds,  but  it  was  im 
possible  ;  he  must  keep  his  post. 

"  What  place  is  that  over  there  ?  "  the  lady  asked, 
very  content;  she  had  managed  so  nicely 

"  Canada." 

"  But  that  place?     I  see  a  big  house." 

"It  is  the  hotel  on  the  Canada  side." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  asked,  and  was  told  so." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  find  out  a  great  many  things! 
What  are  those  people  doing,  Stephen  ?  " 

"Buying  something  from  the  Indian  women. 
There  are  three  Indian  women  sitting  on  the  grass, 
— don't  you  see  ? — and  they  have  things  to  sell." 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  jumped  up  and  went  to  the 
spot.  The  other  strangers  moved  away,  having 
finished  their  purchases;  and  now  came  a  delight 
ful  time  for  the  little  woman.  Keal  Indian  trinkets, 
and  she  could  buy  them  herself!  She  was  still  busy 
with  her  bargains  when  Posie  and  Mr.  Dunstable 
came  up. 

"Just  look  here-^-did  you  ever  see  anything  so 
lovely?  Look  at  that  needlecase — it's  Tuscarora 
work ;  and  this  dear  little  purse,  see !  " 

"0  mother,  why  did  you  not  come  with  us?" 

"Too  many  stairs,  child.  Here,  look  at  these 
lovely  beads ! " 

"  You  will  find  plenty  of  them  in  the  museum," 
Stephen  observed. 


NIAGARA.  441 

"  Have  you  been  here  before  ?  you  seem  uncom 
monly  wise  about  Niagara,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 

Stephen  stood  by  and  looked  on,  while  all  the 
rest  of  the  party  made  purchases.  He  could  not 
understand  it;  with  the  roar  of  the  falls  in  their 
ears,  and  the  sight  of  the  great  Horseshoe  only  a 
few  minutes  from  them,  they  were  exercised  about 
beads  and  purses.  Even  Erick  went  into  the  traf 
fic,  and  gave  Posie  a  little  hair  ring  with  "  Niag 
ara  "  in  white  porcupine  quills  embroidered  upon 
it.  At  last,  they  left  the  Indians  and  went  for 
ward,  to  the  point  where  the  grand  view  opens 
before  the  traveller,  and  a  little  path  descends  the 
bank  to  the  narrow  bridge  over  the  rapids  which 
leads  to  Terrapin  tower.  They  were  all  silent. 
What  a  wonderful  sweep  of  green  water!  What 
a  steam  of  ascending  vapour!  What  a  mighty 
rush  downwards  to  the  abyss,  and  what  a  soft, 
sweet  spring  up  towards  heaven !  Every  minute 
the  scene  seemed  new;  more  wonderful,  more  im 
pressive,  more  varied,  and  more  grand  in  its  un 
changing  majesty. 

Erick  presently  persuaded  Posie  to  go  on  with 
him  to  the  tower.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  would  not 
be  persuaded.  She  had  some  value  for  her  life  yet, 
she  declared.  But  then  Posie  remarked  that  where 
she  was  her  life  would  be  quite  safe,  and  that  Ste 
phen  must  go  with  them  to  the  tower.  Mrs.  Har 
denbrook  could  not  hinder  it;  and  for  the  next 
twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour  Niagara  was  lost 
to  her.  She  neither  heard  it  nor  saw  it;  all  her 


442  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

attention  was  concentrated  upon  three  small  fig 
ures  going  along  the  bridge  and  then  appearing 
in  the  gallery  of  the  tower.  She  tried  to  make  out 
who  stood  next  to  Posie,  who  was  talking  to  her, 
what  place  Stephen  kept,  if  he  kept  any ;  and  vexed 
herself  with  fretting  and  imagining  till  the  three 
returned;  Stephen  this  time  certainly  behind. 

They  went  on  and  made  the  circuit  of  Goat 
Island,  and  came  home  very  hungry  for  dinner. 

"  What  shall  we  try  for  this  afternoon  ?  "  queried 
Erick,  as  they  sat  at  table. 

"  This  afternoon  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hardenbrook. 
"  Erick,  do  you  want  to  kill  me  ?  For  this  after 
noon  I  want  to  lie  down  on  my  bed  and  go  to 
Bleep." 

"0  but  mother!" — "0  aunt  Maria!" — ran  the 
different  exclamations.  "  We  cannot  afford  to  lose 
all  the  half  of  this  day.  I  propose  that  we  visit  the 
museum  and  drive  to  the  whirlpool,  this  afternoon ; 
finish  up  this  side;  and  to-morrow  we  will  go  over 
to  the  Canada  side,  see  the  Horseshoe  fall  from 
there,  go  under  the  curtain,  and  drive  to  the  mill 
and  spring." 

"  Go  under  what  curtain  ?  " 

"Of  the  Fall.  Of  the  Horseshoe.  People  go 
under  every  day." 

"  Under  !    To  the  foot  of  it,  you  mean  ?  " 

••  I  mean,  behind  the  great  sheet  of  water.  There 
is  space  beliind  it,  the  forward  spring  of  the  water 
is  so  great ;  you  can  go  behind  it ;  and  I  suppose  the 
sight  is  like  no  other  sight  in  the  world." 


NIAGARA.  443 

"  Anybody  may  see  it  that  likes.  Jam  not  going, 
I  can  tell  you.  It  must  be  perfectly  awful.  I  should 
think  people  would  lose  their  senses;  only  they 
could  not  have  had  any  sense  to  begin  with,  or 
they  wouldn't  be  there." 

"  Don't  say  that.     Posie  and  I  are  going." 

"  Why  mother,  we  were  behind  the  curtain  in 
the  Cave  of  the  Winds;  and  it  was  most  beautiful, 
and  there  was  not  the  least  difficulty  about  it," 
Posie  urged. 

This  question  being  left  unsettled^for  the  pres 
ent,  Erick's  plan  for  the  afternoon  was  agreed  to. 
They  drove  to  the  whirlpool,  and  they  went  to  the 
museum.  The  latter  place  held  them  long.  The 
two  ladies  were  enchanted  with  the  agates  from 
Lake  Superior  especially ;  and  spent  a  good  deal  of 
time  trying  to  decide  how  much  money  they  would 
spend  upon  them,  and  then  in  choosing  which  they 
would  have,  out  of  such  a  variety  of  beauty  and  so 
many  degrees  of  costliness.  Stephen  was  not  of 
the  party  this  time;  he  preferred  to  do  some  sight 
seeing  on  his  own  account,  being  a  little  tired  of 
waiting  on  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  perpetually  and  see 
ing  Erick  in  the  enjoyment  of  what  until  now  had 
been  solely  his  own  privilege. 

The  next  day  was  devoted  to  the  Canada  side. 
They  drove  across  the  Suspension  bridge  and  up  to 
the  Great  fall ;  which  they  stood  and  surveyed  for  a 
time  in  silence. 

"I  think  it  is  awful — that  is  what  I  think," 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook  uttered  her  judgment,  as  she 


444  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

half  turned  away.  The  accent  was  of  decided 
disapprobation. 

"  It's  like  nothing  in  all  the  world,  I  am  sure," 
said  Posie.  "It  is  grand;  but  it  is  dreadful." 

"  Kay,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  said  Erick,  as 
Stephen  stood  by  silent  and  gave  no  sign. 

"  To  me,  it  is  beautiful,"  he  answered. 

"  You  must  have  a  taste  for  awful  things,"  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook  remarked  in  an  uncomplimentary 
manner.  "The  American  fall  is  bad  enough;  but 
this  is  terrible !  I  don't  like  it." 

"Then  you  won't  go  under  the  curtain,"  said 
Erick.  "Come,  Posie,  we  will  leave  your  mother 
in  Stephen's  care,  and  she  will  be  comfortable ;  and 
we  will  go  down  and  get  this  new  experience. 
Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Isn't  it  dangerous  ?  "  said  Posie.  She  was  look 
ing  with  wholesome  awe  at  the  great  leap  and  rush 
of  the  green  water. 

"  Not  a  bit  dangerous.  Never  was  an  accident 
there.  Come  !  I  will  take  care  of  you." 

Posie  hesitated.  So  did  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  afraid 
to  have  her  daughter  go,  and  yet  unwilling  to  check 
what  might  be  a  nice  opportunity  for  Erick  to 
recommend  himself  and  for  Posie  to  learn  to  depend 
upon  him.  Posie  too  did  not  want  to  lose  the  fun 
of  the  adventure,  but  she  was  timid. 

"  What  is  gained  by  going  ?  "  Stephen  asked. 

"A  sight  you  can  never  see  anywhere  else," 
replied  Erick.  "  It  will  be  something  all  her  life, 
to  say  that  she  has  been  there." 


NIAGARA.  445 

"  That  is  not  reason  enough,"  said  Stephen.  "  I 
wouldn't  go,  Posie." 

"But  I  shall  never  have  another  chance" — said 
Posie,  undecided. 

"  That  is  no  reason  either,"  Stephen  said  smiling, 
"You  don't"  want  a  chance;  unless  the  thing  is  a 
good  thing  to  do." 

"  But  it  is !  "  cried  Erick.  "  Come,  cousin,  do 
not  be  put  off  the  notion.  Trust  yourself  to  me. 
If  you  do  not  like  to  go  on,  when  we  get  nearer  to 
it,  we  can  come  back.  You  need  not  go  through 
unless  you  like.  It's  a  beautiful  day  for  it,  bright 
and  warm." 

Posie  made  half  a  step  forward. 

"  Do  not  go,  Posie ! "  Stephen  said  again  earnestly. 
"I  would  not  go." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  will  like  it." 

"  What  can  you  know  about  the  matter  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Hardenbrook;  while  Erick's  face  perhaps  sug 
gested  the  same  question.  "How  can  you  tell 
whether  she  would  like  it  or  no  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  there  myself." 

"  You  ?     Seen  there  ?     When,  pray  ?  " 

"Yesterday  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  poured  out  a  succession  of 
comments  and  remarks,  to  which  nobody  paid  any 
particular  attention.  Erick  was  busy  persuading 
and  encouraging  Posie ;  Stephen  stood  silently  now 
looking  on.  Posie  was  pulled  two  ways,  in  obedi 
ence  to  two  different  threads  of  feeling.  Finally 


446  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

the  inclination  to  go  with  Erick  conquered;  and 
with  a  nod  of  sweet  wilfulness  at  the  two  she 
was  leaving,  she  turned  her  back  upon  them 
and  accepted  Erick's  hand  to  lead  her  down 
vhe  path. 

The  other  two,  left  alone,  were  very  silent. 
Hardly  a  word  was  exchanged  between  them  dur 
ing  all  the  time  Posie  was  gone.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
sat  down  upon  a  log  of  timber  and  turned  her  back 
to  the  falls.  Stephen  seemed  to  be  lost  in  contem 
plation  of  them ;  what  he  was  thinking  of  was  an 
other  matter.  It  seemed  a  long  time,  it  was  really 
not  a  short  time,  that  he  stood  and  she  sat  so; 
scarce  moving,  not  speaking.  At  length,  to  the 
undoubted  relief  of  both,  the  adventurers  were  seen 
returning. 

"Well?"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  as  they  came 
up. — "Thank  goodness  you  are  here  again  !  I  am 
tired  out  of  all  patience.  Well  ?  what  do  you  think 
of  the  falls  now??" 

Posie's  eyes  were  bright  and  her  cheeks  flushed 
with  exertion,  but  to  Stephen's  fancy  her  mood  was 
a  little  graver  than  it  had  been  two  hours  before. 
She  answered  however  readily. 

"I  am  glad  I  have  been,  mother;  and  I  am  glad 
I  need  never  go  again  !  It  was  something  fright 
ful,  the  struggling  through  the  cloud  of  spray  be 
fore  you  can  really  get  under  the  fall.  I  was 
almost  choked.  Spray!  it  was  like  the  thickest 
kind  of  rain,  coming  in  your  face  with  the  fury 
of  a  hurricane;  and  in  such  a  kind  of  place  one 


NIAGARA.  447 

would  naturally  like  to  keep  one's  eyes  open.  You 
can't  do  it,  though." 

44  Then  what's  the  use  of  going,  if  you  can't  see 
anything  ?  " 

44  0  afterwards  you  can  see.  It  is  before  you  get 
behind  the  curtain  of  the  fall  that  you  have  to  go 
through  all  this.  Come,  do  let  us  go  and  get  some 
thing  to  eat;  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  wild  animal." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

POETRY. 

THEY  lunched,  or  dined  rather,  at  the  Clifton 
House.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  chancing  to  re 
mark  on  the  delightful  immunity  from  the  noise 
of  roaring  waters,  the  rapids  here  not  being  just 
under  the  windows,  Stephen  proposed  that  the 
party  should  shift  their  quarters  and  remain  on 
the  Canada  side  for  the  rest  of  their  stay.  This 
was  agreed  to  unanimously,  especially  as  Stephen 
offered  himself  to  go  over  and  fetch  all  the  bag 
gage.  This  occasioned  his  not  being  with  the 
others  when  they  drove  up  the  river  and  visited 
the  Burning  spring  and  the  second  museum.  It 
was  hardly  a  matter  of  regret  to  him.  Since  Erick 
had  established  himself  to  be  Posie's  cavalier  on 
every  occasion,  Stephen  found  a  very  sensible  alloy 
mingled  with  his  pleasure;  and  was  even  willing 
at  times  to  do  without  the  pleasure,  so  he  might 
escape  the  annoyance.  But  they  sat  together  on 
the  verandah  after  supper  and  looked  at  the  falls, 
of  which  the  position  of  the  Clifton  House  gives 
such  a  fine  view.  At  least,  Stephen  looked  at  them 
persistently.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  had  presently  ar- 
(448) 


POETRY.  449 

ranged  herself  with  her  back  to  them,  because,  as  she 
said,  the  light  of  the  moon  was  in  her  eyes;  and 
Erick  and  Posie  were  perhaps  too  deep  in  talk  to 
give  either  moon  or  falls  the  regard  they  merited. 
Stephen  listened  too,  while  he  looked;  Erick  was 
entertaining.  He  was  telling  Posie  about  English 
high  schools,  University  boat  races,  cathedral 
towns  in  England,  the  Thames  and  its  shipping, 
London  antiquities;  and  apropos  of  these  latter 
lie  developed  a  good  amount  of  historic  knowledge. 
It  was  a  little  trying;  for  he  referred  to  a  great 
many  things  which  Stephen  did  not  know ;  though 
Posie,  he  saw,  followed  the  talk  and  seemed  at 
home  in  the  subjects  of  it.  Ah,  it  is  a  great  thing 
to  be  really  educated !  not  merely  to  have  a  little 
reading  and  writing  and  arithmetic.  Educated; 
made  acquainted  with  the  world  of  men  and  their 
doings,  past  and  present;  one's  mind  enlarged  to 
take  in  all  these  things,  and  then  enriched  by  the 
possession  of  them.  To  know  what  is  done, 
what  has  been  done,  and  so,  what  can  be  done. 
To  stretch  one's  own  powers,  and  having  strength 
ened  them  by  exercise  to  bring  them  to  bear 
upon  some  work  or  other  for  which  both  the 
individual  and  the  world  may  be  the  better. 
Stephen  was  watching  the  moonlight  as  it  glinted 
on  the  top  of  the  fall  over  against  him,  but  at 
the  same  time  heard  Erick's  tongue  running  on, 
and  as  he  listened  he  pondered;  he  contrasted 
himself  and  the  easy  speaker;  he  grudged  the  lat 
ter  a  little  his  power  of  amusing  Posie.  For  a 


450  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

little;  and  then,  as  once  or  twice  before,  he  took 
himself  to  task.  If  a  workman  knows  how  and 
where  to  apply  his  various  tools,  does  not  the  Great 
Creator  and  Manager  of  all  know  as  much  ?  If  he 
himself,  Stephen  Kay,  was  in  the  place  he  was 
meant  to  fill,  then  he  was  in  the  best  that  was 
possible  for  him.  And  "  shall  the  axe  lift  up  itself 
against  him  that  heweth  therewith?"  All  it  had 
to  do  was  to  be  as  sharp  an  axe  as  its  temper  per 
mitted.  Stephen  contented  himself  again,  and 
enjoyed  the  wonderful  evening,  albeit  with  that 
bit  of  alloy. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  They  all  went  to 
church,  except  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  It  was  too  hot, 
she  said,  and  she  was  tired  to  death  with  the  past 
four  days'  exertion.  She  would  lie  down  and  try 
to  be  rested,  before  to-morrow's  journey.  After 
dinner  she  managed  to  get  into  a  cane  chair  on  the 
balcony,  whither  Erick  and  her  daughter  attended 
her;  but  again  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  turned  her  back 
to  the  view. 

"  If  I  were  to  keep  staring  at  that  uneasy  water, 
as  Stephen  does  for  instance,  I  should  go  out  of  my 
mind  in  a  little  time,"  she  said. 

"  Where  is  Stephen  ?  "  Posie  asked  a  while  later. 

"7  don't  know!  It  is  Sunday,  you  know;  our 
company  isn't  good  enough  for  him.  I  suppose  he 
is  reading  his  Bible  somewhere.  Erick,  I  am  glad 
you  are  not  sanctimonious." 

"  Kay  is  not,  I  am  sure,"  was  the  answer.  "  I 
take  it,  all  is  genuine  about  him." 


POETRY.  451 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  said  Posie.  "  Erick,  the  after 
noon  has  grown  cooler;  don't  you  think  we  might 
stroll  up  and  take  a  nearer  look  at  the  Horseshoe? 
Mother,  you  wouldn't  mind?  we  are  going  away 
to-morrow,  you  know;  and  I  would  like  to  see  it 
once  more." 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  would  not  mind,  at  all.  The 
two  young  people  accordingly  sauntered  up  along 
the  edge  of  the  river  bank ;  more  silent  than  usual ; 
enjoying  the  air  and  the  light  and  the  marvellous 
colours  of  the  agitated  water;  but  all  the  while  Posie 
was  looking  out  for  something.  There  were  other 
strollers  along  the  road,  from  whom  they  kept  apart: 
the  person  she  wanted  to  see  was  not  among  them. 
At  last,  near  the  great  fall,  they  came  in  sight  of 
a  figure  seated  in  the  shadow  of  some  trees,  close 
upon  the  edge  of  the  bank;  the  figure  was  half 
lying  on  the  ground,  in  a  very  easy  attitude,  of 
contemplation  perhaps,  or  it  might  be  of  meditation. 

"  There  is  Stephen  !  "  exclaimed  Posie.  And  her 
accent  said,  I  have  found  him ! 

"  Unsociable  fellow  !  "  said  Erick. 

"Wait  for  me  a  moment,  cousin  Erick,  will  you? 
I  want  to  speak  to  Stephen." 

With  the  word  she  started  off  towards  Stephen's 
place  of  study,  or  of  view-taking,  leaving  her  com 
panion  in  a  manner  forbidden  to  follow  her.  He 
stood  still  as  directed,  watching  her  glide  down  the 
slope,  noticing  that  her  steps  were  hasty,  and  that 
she  at  once  sat  down  on  the  bank  beside  Stephen 
as  soon  as  she  reached  him.  It  was  too  far  off  for 


452  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Erick  to  hear  what  she  said,  and  he  found  his  po 
sition  presently  the  reverse  of  amusing. 

"  0  Stephen ! "  cried  Posie  eagerly,  "  what  are 
you  doing  here?" 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  retorted  Stephen 
good-humouredly. 

"  Erick  and  I  were  just  going  up  to  look  at  the 
fall, — and  I  spied  you  under  these  trees.  I  have 
missed  you  all  the  afternoon." 

"Thank  you." 

A  minute's  pause. 

"  Stephen," — Posie  spoke  with  wistful  intonation, 
— "  were  you  vexed  with  me  yesterday  ? — because 
I  went  under  the  fall,  when  you  told  me  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  told  you  not." 

"0  well,  you  said  what  shewed  me  what  you 
wished,  and  that  ought  to  have  been  enough.  It 
was  foolish  of  me  to  go ;  but  you  see,  I  did  not  know 
what  it  was;  and  Erick  did  not  know." 

"  I  knew  that." 

"  How  came  you  to  know  ?  How  came  you  to  go 
there,  by  yourself?" 

"  I  wanted  to  find  out  whether  it  was  safe  and 
proper  for  you  to  go." 

"0  Stephen! — Did  you  go  just  for  that?"  said 
Posie,  looking  very  much  concerned  and  conscience 
stricken. 

"It  wasn't  much  use,"  said  Stephen  smiling. 
"  As  it  turned  out." 

"  Stephen,  it's  horrid !  I  did  not  want  to  say  so 
before  Erick,  for  he  would  have  been  hurt  perhaps, 


POETRY.  453 

as  he  was  the  cause  of  my  going;  but  I  never  was 
so  glad  to  get  out  of  anything  in  all  my  life. 
Well,  it  has  been  a  lesson  to  me.  I  will  never  do 
anything  again,  as  long  as  I  live,  that  you  tell  me 
not  to  do." 

Stephen  said  nothing  to  that. 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  Stephen  ?  It  is  not 
your  Bible." 

"A  little  book  that  I  picked  up  Wednesday 
night  in  New  York." 

"  Stephen,  do  you  think  there  is  any  more  harm 
in  walking  and  talking,  than  in  sitting  still  and 
talking?  You  won't  walk  on  Sunday,  I  know; 
but  isn't  this  just  as  good  a  place  as  the  hotel 
piazza  ?  " 

"  It  is  much  better,  I  think." 

"  Then  will  you  come  with  us  ?  we  are  just  going 
up  to  look  at  the  Horseshoe." 

"  Can't  have  a  better  place  to  look  at  it  than  I 
have  got  here,"  said  Stephen.  "  What  have  you 
done  with  Mr.  Dunstable?  You  had  better  join 

u 

me. 

Posie  had  not  been  without  a  certain  conscious 
ness,  during  these  days,  that  ^Stephen  had  been 
somewhat  left  out  in  the  cold;  she  willingly  sig 
nalled  Erick  to  come  to  them,  who  willingly  obeyed; 
and  presently  they  were  a  cosy  party  of  three  on 
the  bank,  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  enjoying 
a  very  magnificent  view  of  the  river  and  both  falls. 
They  all  sat  silent  a  while,  looking;  and  the  min 
utes  of  silence  stretched  themselves  on.  At  their 


454  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

right  rose  the  column  of  vapour,  where  the  mass 
of  waters  throws  itself  over  the  rock;  opposite  them 
was  Goat  Island,  illuminated  by  the  western  sun ; 
further  down,  the  fair  American  fall  with  its  deli 
cate  tones  of  colour;  at  their  feet  the  turbulent 
river,  in  its  deep,  clear,  beautiful,  unimaginable 
green,  hurrying  and  whirling  along,  with  wreaths 
of  white  foam  here  and  there  setting  off  the  green. 

"  Kay,"  said  Erick  breaking  the  silence  that  had 
crept  upon  the  group, — "  doesn't  all  this  make  you 
feel  uncommonly  small?" 

"No,"  said  Stephen.  The  answer  was  not  ab 
rupt,  but  however  it  was  decided. 

"  Why  should  it  ?  "  he  asked  presently,  as  Erick 
said  no  more. 

"  It  is  so  tremendous !  It  speaks  so  of  the  great 
ness  of  the  Creator.  Don't  you  feel  almost  op 
pressed  by  that  thought  ? " 

"No,"  said  Stephen  again.  "It  does  not  speak 
his  greatness  to  me  any  more  than  a  rose  does. 
And  the  thought  anyhow  is  not  oppressive.  Why 
should  it  be  oppressive  ?  To  me  it  is  the  very  re 
verse.  It  is  inspiriting." 

"  It  crushes  me,"  said  Erick. 

"That's  not  natural.  I  never  heard  of  a  child's 
feeling  oppressed  by  a  knowledge  of  his  father's 
greatness, — or  feeling  small  himself  in  consequence, 
either.  It  works  the  other  way." 

"That  is  you,  Stephen,"  said  Posie;  "it  is  not 
common  folks." 

"  It  is  for  common  folks,  though,"  said  Stephen 


POETRY.  455 

"It  is  for  very  common  folks.  Only,  of  course, 
they  must  know  they  are  God's  children." 

"That  is  too  much  to  say,"  here  Erick  put  in. 
"To  know  that,  is  more  than  any  mortal  can." 

"  Can't  you  say  the  Lord's  prayer  ?  "  said  Stephen. 
"  We  are  told  to  pray  so.  And  that  begins  with 
'Our  Father.'" 

"  One  can  say  that,"  replied  Erick.  "  We  know 
he  is  the  Father  of  all.  That  is  something  differ 
ent.  '  Our '  is  different  from  '  My.' " 

"  The  first  person  plural  includes  the  first  person 
singular,  though,"  remarked  Posie. 

"  Grammatically  " — 

"What's  grammar  good  for?"  said  Stephen. 
"  But  I  am  sure  the  Bible  bids  us  '  rejoice  always' ; 
and  how  anybody  can  rejoice  with  that  question 
left  in  uncertainty,  is  what  I  cannot  imagine." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  certainty  is  rather  presuming." 

"  It  would  be  presumption  for  disobedience." 

There  was  something  in  Stephen's  tone  which 
struck  the  two  others.  He  was  looking  away  at 
the  Great  fall,  speaking  thoughtfully,  not  contro 
versially;  and  in  his  words  there  was  a  slight, 
unconscious,  contented,  accent  of  gladness,  which 
bore  sufficient  testimony  to  the  fact,  that  in  his 
mind  obedience  knew  it  was  not  presuming.  The 
others  were  silent,  gazing  also  at  the  display  be 
fore  them,  but  hardly  thinking  of  it. 

"Still" — Erick  began  again — "to  go  back, — all 
this  greatness  and  magnificence  of  creation  makes 
me  feel  infinitely  small." 


456  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"It  is  the  greatness  and  magnificence  of  the 
Creator,"  responded  Stephen;  "and  where  would 
we  be,  but  for  that?  Listen  to  something  I  have 
found  here." 

He  turned  to  his  book,  and  opened  it  where  his 
finger  was  keeping  the  place  between  its  leaves. 

"  'O  Majesty  unspeakable  and  dread  ! 

"Wert  thou  less  mighty  than  thou  art, 
Thou  wert,  O  Lord,  too  great  for  our  belief, 
Too  little  for  our  heart.'  " 

"What  is  that?"  said  Erick. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Posie. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Stephen.  "It  seems  to  me 
now  as  if  I  had  always  thought  it,  only  I  never 
put  it  in  words  till  now;  it  seems  as  if  I  must  have 
written  this  myself.  I  have  been  enjoying  it  un 
speakably.  Just  listen, — 

•'  'But  greatness  which  is  infinite,  makes  room 

For  all  things  in  its  lap  to  lie; 
We  should  be  crushed  by  a  magnificence 
Short  of  infinity. 


"  'We  share  in  what  is  infinite:  'tis  ours, 

For  we  and  it  alike  are  thine. 
What  I  enjoy,  Great  God!  by  right  of  thee 
Is  more  than  doubly  mine. 

14 '  Thus  doth  thy  hospitable  greatness  lio 

Outside  us  like  a  boundless  sea; 
"We  cannot  lose  ourselves  where  all  is  home, 
Nor  drift  away  from  thee. 


POETRY.  457 

"  « Out  on  that  sea  -we  are  in  harbour  still, 
And  scarce  advert  to  winds  and  tides, 
Like  ships  that  ride  at  anchor,  with  the  waves 
Flapping  against  their  sides.' " 

"  Isn't  that  good  ?  It  is  such  an  image  of  tran 
quil  security." 

"That's  very  fine!"  said  Erick;  "all  that  you 
have  read ;  but  it  is  somewhat  beyond  ordinary  ex 
perience,  I  am  afraid.  It  bewilders  me,  rather." 

"  Go  on,  Stephen,"  Posie  said.  "  I  don't  under 
stand  it,  but  all  the  same  I  love  to  hear  it." 

Stephen  obeyed. 

"  Here's  for  you,  Duiistable,"  he  said. 

"  '  Thus  doth  thy  grandeur  make  us  grand  our  selves j 

'Tis  goodness  bids  us  fear; 
Thy  greatness  makes  us  brave  as  children  are, 
When  those  they  love  are  near. 

'"Great  God  !  our  lowliness  takes  heart  to  play 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  thy  state; 
The  only  comfort  of  our  littleness 
Is  that  Thou  art  so  great. 

"  '  Then  on  thy  grandeur  I  will  lay  me  down; 

Already  life  is  heaven  for  me; 
No  cradled  child  more  softly  lies  than  I, — 
Come  soon,  Eternity  ! '  " 

Posie's  eyes  had  filled  brimful  of  tears.  "  0  Ste 
phen  !  "  she  said, — "  I  do  not  feel  like  that." 

But  he  was  silent.  Nothing  was  plainer  than 
that  he  did. 

"If  that  is  the  way  you  look  at  things,"  said 


458  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Erick,  you  must  have  had  a  royal  afternoon  out 
here,  this  Sunday." 

"I  have  had  that." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  taking  a  soaring 
flight  above  most  people's  experience!  We  can 
hardly  follow  you  with  our  eyes." 

Stephen  again  made  no  answer,  and  the  silence 
was  this  time  of  some  continuance. 

"  What  is  that  book,  Stephen  ?  "  Posie  asked. 

"  I  hardly  know  the  name,"  Stephen  answered, 
turning  the  leaves.  "I  found  it  in  a  bookstore 
Wednesday  night;  and  it  is  full  of  most  wonderful 
things." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  poetical  before.  It 
is  all  poetry,  I  see  from  here." 

"I  do  not  think  I  am  poetical,"  he  said  smiling; 
"  at  least  I  do  not  care  for  the  poetry  without  the 
truth." 

"  Poetry  is  never  without  its  truth,"  said  Erick. 
"  At  least,  so  they  say." 

"I  thought  I  had  seen  some." 

"  Then  it  was  not  poetry.  It  might  have  been 
rhyme." 

"You  are  getting  beyond  me  now.  I  thought 
rhyme  was  poetry.  It  isn't  prose." 

"  It  is  awful  prose  sometimes,"  said  Erick. 

"  '  Mary  had  a  little  lamb, 

Its  fleece  was  white  as  snow; 
And  everywhere  that  Mary  went, 
The  lamb  was  sure  to  go.' 

-What  do  you  think  of  that?" 


POETRY.  459 

"But  Erick,"  quoth  Posie,  "could  you  not  quote 
instances  also  where  there  is  poetry  without  truth? 
This  is  truth  without  poetry." 

"/  cannot,"  said  Erick.  "If  you  can,  coz.,  I 
should  very  much  like  to  hear." 

Posie  meditated ;  and  presently  brought  forward 
one  and  another  well  known  passage,  which  she 
and  Erick  discussed,  each  trying  to  prove  his  posi 
tion.  The  discussion  grew  lively.  Erick's  enjoy 
ment  in  it,  however,  arose  largely  from  the  free 
opportunity  it  gave  him  to  watch  his  pretty  oppo 
nent.  Posie  was  so  very  pretty;  and  just  now 
shewed  it  particularly.  She  had  let  her  hat  slip 
off,  as  she  was  under  the  screen  of  the  trees;  and 
her  sweet  flushed  face  and  curly,  rumpled  hair 
were  otherwise  unshaded.  There  was  an  uncom 
mon  mingling  of  youthful  innocence  and  womanly 
intelligence  in  the  face;  it  was  sweet,  with  no 
insipid  sweetness  or  insignificant  good  humour, 
but  lively  and  bright,  and  varying  in  its  play;  arch 
and  wilful,  and  at  the  same  time  true.  Erick 
looked,  and  feasted  his  eyes,  without  Posie  being  any 
the  wiser.  Stephen  now  sat  silent,  with  his  face 
turned  toward  the  great  fall ;  if  he  knew  how  lovely 
that  other  face  was,  Erick  could  not  determine ;  his 
admiration  at  any  rate  was  not  apparent.  In  the 
talk  about  true  and  false  poetry  he  took  no  share 
at  all.  Erick  and  Posie  carried  it  on  for  some  time. 
Both  at  last  appealed  to  him. 

"Stephen,  I  know  you  ^  think  as  I  do?"  said 
Posie. 


460  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"Kay,  you  don't  say  a  word;  what  are  you 
thinking  of?"  demanded  Erick. 

"  I  was  thinking  that  it  is  Sunday." 

"  Sunday  !  what  of  that  ?  " 

"01  might  have  known  what  you  were  think 
ing,"  said  Posie.  "  I  forgot,  Stephen." 

"What  of  Sunday?"  said  Erick  again.  "We 
are  not  doing  anything.  What  on  earth  do  you 
mean,  old  fellow  ?  Do  we  disturb  you  ?  " 

"I  do  not  want  you  to  go  away,"  said  Stephen, 
"if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  But  I  know  you  would  like  us  to  talk  of  some 
thing  else,"  said  Posie.  "  Stephen,  have  you  been 
reading  that  book  all  this  afternoon?  I  should 
think  you  would  be  tired  and  want  a  change." 

"Tired!"  Stephen  echoed.  "With  the  roar  of 
those  waters  making  a  base  to  the  music  all  the 
while ! " 

"What  music?" 

"  Listen.  There  are  so  many  places  I  would  like 
to  read  to  you,  I  do  not  know  where  to  begin. 
Take  this:— 

"  'How  dread  are  thine  jeternal  years, 

O  everlasting  Lord  ! 
By  prostrate  spirits  day  and  night 
Incessantly  adored ! 

"  'How  beautiful,  how  beautiful 

The  sight  of  thee  must  be, 
Thine  endless  wisdom,  boundless  power, 
And  awful  purity  ! ' " 


POETRY.  461 

"Yes,"  assented  Erick;  "I  grant  you  there  is  a 
fitting  accompaniment  here  for  such  words." 

A  little  awe  had  fallen  upon  him  and  Posie 
again,  from  a  certain  ring  in  Stephen's  accent 
which  again  testified  how  true  the  words  were  for 
him. 

"But  Stephen,"  said  Posie,  "one  cannot  bear 
such  thoughts  too  long." 

"  Then  I'll  give  you  another.     Listen : — 

"  '  Yet  I  may  love  thee  too,  0  Lord ! 

Almighty  as  thou  art, 
For  thou  hast  stooped  to  ask  of  me 
The  love  of  my  poor  heart.' 

— And  back  here; — 

"  '  For  thy  grandeur  is  all  tenderness, 

All  motherlike  and  meek; 
The  hearts  that  will  not  come  to  it 
Humbling  itself  to  seek. 

"  *  All  fathers  learn  their  craft  from  thee; 

All  loves  are  shadows  cast 
From  the  beautiful  eternal  hills 
Of  thine  unbeginning  past.'  " 

"  That's  very  fine,"  said  Erick. 
Stephen  went  on. 

"  '  There's  not  a  craving  in  the  mind 

Thou  dost  not  meet  and  still; 
There's  not  a  wish  the  heart  can  have 
Which  thou  dost  not  fulfil.'  " 


462  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"0  but  Stephen!"  cried  Posie; — "that  is  just, 
one  of  those  passages  I  spoke  of,  where  poetry  is 
not  exactly  truth.  That's  too  much  to  say." 

"  It  is  not  more  than  Christ  said,"  Stephen  an 
swered,  closing  his  book  upon  the  finger  that  kept 
his  place. 

"Said  where?" 

"You  know — 'I  am  the  bread  of  life;  he  that 
cometh  to  me  shall  never  hunger,  and  he  that  be 
lie  veth  on  me  shall  never  thirst.' " 

"  0  but,  that  means — " 

"  He  said  the  same  thing  to  the  woman  of  Sa 
maria.  'Whosoever  drinketh  of  this  water  shall 
thirst  again;  but  he  that  drinketh  of  the  water 
that  I  shall  give  him,  shall  never  thirst.' " 

"  But,  all  cravings  and  wishes ! — "  said  Posie. 
"That  is  too  much." 

"You  think  He  cannot  do  it?" 

"  It  is  not  human  experience,"  said  Erick. 

"  It  was  this  man's  experience,  who  wrote  this 
book." 

"  Stephen,  is  it  yours  ?  "  asked  Posie.  "  Can  you 
say  those  words  ?  " 

Stephen  did  not  immediately  speak;  his  face  told 
nothing;  it  was  thoughtful  and  calm.  The  other 
two  watched  him. 

"What's  to  become  of  me,  if  I  cannot  say  it?" 
he  asked.  "What  is  to  become  of  all  cravings  and 
wishes,  if  they  cannot  be  stilled  so  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Cannot  they  be  stilled  by  being  grati 
fied?  Mine  are,  generally." 


POETRY.  463 

"You  have  not  set  your  heart  upon  any  very 
great  thing  yet,"  Stephen  said,  turning  his  eyes 
upon  her.  "You  have  had  what  you  wanted, 
pretty  much,  Posie." 

"Haven't  you?"  she  asked  quickly;  for  some 
thing  in  his  look  was  beyond  her  reading  and  dis 
turbed  her.  But  he  answered  a  quiet  "yes,"  and 
with  a  smile. 

"  Then  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"About  wishes  that  cannot  be  gratified;  things 
people  set  their  hearts  on,  that  nevertheless  they 
must  go  without;  or  that  are  taken  away  after 
they  have  been  gained.  What's  to  become  of  hap 
piness  then  ?  " 

"  What's  to  become  of  it  in  any  case  ?  " 

"It's  safe  enough,"  Stephen  answered  soberly, 
"  if  it  is  in  the  Lord's  hand." 

"  Do  you  mean,  He  can  make  them  happy  if  they 
have  nothing  else  ?  " 

Stephen  smiled  again,  but  instead  <5f  replying, 
turned  to  his  book  and  read. 

"  '  All  things  that  have  been,  all  that  are, 

All  things  that  can  be  dreamed, 
All  possible  creations,  made, 
Kept  faithful,  or  redeemed, — 

"  '  All  these  may  draw  upon  thy  power, 

Thy  mercy  may  command; 
And  still  outflows  Thy  silent  sea, 
Immutable  and  grand. 

' '  0  little  heart  of  mine  !  shall  pain 
Or  sorrow  make  thee  moan, 


464  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

( 

When  all  this  God  is  all  for  thee, 
A  Father  all  thine  own? '  " 

Posie  looked  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 

"  But  Stephen ! "  she  cried,  "  that  is  power;  and 
power  never  made  any  one  happy  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Stephen,  "it  is  infinity." 

"But  infinity — "  said  Erick;  "that  is  a  cold 
idea.  We  want  something  nearer  to  us ;  more 
sympathetic." 

"Then  infinite  Love?  And  what  could  even 
infinite  love  do,  if  it  had  not  the  power?  No,  if 
you  think  of  it,  nothing  less  than  infinity  would 
satisfy  us. 

"  'The  only  comfort  of  our  littleness 
Is  that  Thou  art  so  great.'  " 

"But  Stephen,  it  is  so  far  off!"  said  Posie,  who 
seemed  to  have  found  in  the  line  of  talk  something 
eminently  discomposing. 

"  That  is  because  you  are  far  off,  then,"  he  an 
swered.  " '  Draw  nigh  to  God,  and  he  will  draw 
nigh  to  you.'" 

They  were  all  silent  again  for  a  space ;  and  Erick 
speculated  about  several  things.  Lying  at  ease 
upon  the  warm  turf,  he  looked  down  into  the 
chasm  where  the  green  water  was  rushing  and 
boiling  in  a  kind  of  fury  of  turbulent  haste;  not 
thinking  indeed  of  that,  but  marvelling  just  what 
sort  of  person  Stephen  might  be,  and  what  rela 
tions  were  those  which  subsisted  between  him  and 
Posie.  Posie  was  sitting  there  thoughtful  and 


POETRY.  465 

troubled;  Stephen  was  thoughtful  too,  but  a  face 
less  troubled  it  would  be  difficult  to  find.  Had  he 
been  thinking  of  Posie  a  little  while  ago?  were 
his  wishes  tending  that  way,  and  was  he  contem 
plating  the  possibility  of  their  turning  out  to  be 
vain  wishes?  Then  how  could  he  be  so  reposeful? 
And  what  made  Posie  care  so  very  much  what  he 
thought  and  felt,  or  how  he  judged  principles  and 
actions?  She  cared  too  much,  Erick  thought. 
Was  she  then  only  amused  with  himself?  Not 
flattering  to  think  I  but  then,  these  two  had  grown 
up  together  like  brother  and  sister.  Was  it  like 
brother  and  sister?  He  had  better  watch  and  find 
out. 

"It's  astonishing,  Stephen,"  said  Posie  as  they 
rose  up, — "  how  often  without  meaning  it  you  make 
me  very  uncomfortable  !  " 

He  might  make  some  little  polite  or  kind  answer 
to  that !  Erick  thought.  Stephen  made  none.  He 
only  gave  his  hand  to  Posie  to  help  her  up  from 
the  grass. 

"  Perhaps  he  did  mean  it,"  suggested  Erick. 

But  Stephen  still  said  nothing;  and  they  walked 
back  to  the  hotel. 

"  Well !  "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook, — "  so  you  have 
brought  Stephen  home.  Where  did  you  find  him?" 

"On  the  bank,  mamma,  with  a  book  and  the 
great  fall;  having  a  good  time." 

"  I  always  thought"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  "that 
the  right  sort  of  religion  did  not  make  people 
Tin  sociable! " 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 
HOME    AGAIN. 

MONDAY  morning  came,  and  with  it  an  end  of 
the  Niagara  sojourn.  The  little  party  set 
out  upon  their  journey  homeward.  And  as  in 
coming,  so  now;  Stephen  looked  after  the  baggage 
and  Mrs.  Hardenbrook,  and  Mr.  Dunstable  took 
care  of  Posie.  It  was  not  through  selfishness  on 
the  part  of  these  latter;  they  were  simply  so  en 
grossed  with  pleasure  that  they  did  not  think  of 
business.  Even  in  a  railway  car,  it  was  great  fun, 
as  Posie  would  have  called  it,  to  have  Erick  devot 
ing  himself  to  her  and  spending  his  strength  in 
entertaining  her.  It  was  rare  fun  too ;  the  oppor 
tunity  did  not  come  to  her  frequently,  in  her  very 
quiet  life;  and  she  enjoyed  it  now  with  the  sort  of 
keen  zest  with  which  pussy  may  be  supposed  to 
taste  the  cream,  when  by  an  odd  chance  she  finds 
herself  in  the  dairy.  Only,  to  be  sure,  there  was 
no  sense  of  getting  anything  by  stealth  in  Posie's 
case,  or  anything  that  did  not  belong  "to  her;  she 
was  but  receiving  her  rights;  whether  anybody 
else  had  any  rights,  for  the  moment  she  forgot. 
As  for  Erick.  he  may  be  forgiven  too ;  he  was  over 


HOME  AGAIN.  467 

head  and  ears  in  something  more  deafening  than  a 
far  cap  with  ear  lappets. 

So  three  of  them  were  happy,  for  Mrs.  Harden- 
brook  had  her  desire.  And  Stephen,  how  went  the 
journey  with  him  ? 

He  thought  the  cars  moved  rather  slowly.  To 
be  sure,  he  filled  a  gap  and  did  the  work  com 
mitted  to  him,  which  to  men  of  his  temperament  is 
always  satisfactory;  but  work  is  not  play,  and  he 
had  the  view  continually  before  him  of  two  people 
who  were  playing  very  hard.  It  is  proverbial,  that 
other  people's  play  does  not  rest  one.  Stephen  took 
it  quietly,  however  ;  he  reflected  that  Erick's  visit 
would  not  last  always,  and  that  when  he  went  away 
all  things  would  return  into  their  accustomed  chan 
nels.  Posie  would  be  his  own  again  to  take  care 
of;  for  that  she  found  only  a  passing  amusement 
in  their  visiter  he  was  sure.  He  did  not  blame 
her;  Erick  was  very  agreeable  and  entertaining; 
and  Stephen  was  tempted  to  draw  contrasts  again. 
Travelled,  educated,  well  looking,  well  mannered, 
with  what  seemed  to  Stephen  at  least  the  habit  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  world;  independent,  or  de 
pending  upon  a  profession  which  was  abundantly 
remunerative,  or  would  be ;  who  could  have  more 
advantages  than  Erick  Dunstable?  And  himself 
on  the  other  hand,  inexperienced  in  life,  able  to  tell 
of  no  adventures  and  to  describe  no  foreign  lands ; 
knowing  indeed  personally  no  larger  share  of  the 
earth's  surface  than  Cowslip  and  its  vicinity;  not 
educated  nor  travelled ;  a  poor  fellow,  useful  certainly 


468  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

in  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  factory,  but  easily  to  be  dis 
pensed  with  even  there,  arid  entirely  dependent  on 
the  good  will  that  kept  fast  hold  of  him.  Stephen 
hardly  thought  all  this  out;  it  was  never  his  way 
to  speculate  upon  himself,  and  he  had  given  up 
fretting  on  that  subject;  but  in  a  latent  sort  of  way 
all  this  was  known  to  him  and  present  with  him ; 
and  he  so  accounted  easily  for  Posie's  fascination 
and  for  the  place  the  new  cousin  had  taken  in  the 
family.  It  did  not  make  either  fact  exactly  pleas 
ant;  but  Stephen  was  not  the  man  to  brood  long 
over  that  or  anything  else.  He  went  back  to  his 
little  book,  which  he  had  brought  along  in  his 
pocket;  and  somehow,  his  was  not  the  worst  time 
or  the  dullest  day  of  the  party. 

In  thinking  of  Erick's  advantages,  I  may  remark, 
Stephen  had  undervalued  his  own.  He  hardly 
knew  that  he  had  a  very  fine,  manly  face,  full  of 
both  strength  and  softness;  but  the  strength  could 
never  be  mistaken.  It  was  seen  too  in  the  unruffled 
manner,  so  expressive  of  self-poise ;  in  the  evenness 
of  deportment,  which  testified  not  only  to  sweet 
ness  of  temper  but  to  steadiness  of  will.  His  person 
was  good  too ;  well  knit  and  strong ;  and  supple,  with 
that  ease  of  motion  which  comes  from  such  well- 
knit  joints  along  with  unconsciousness  of  self  and 
habits  of  activity.  So  that  externally  Stephen  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  comparison  with  anybody. 
It  is  true  his  education,  in  school,  had  been  a  slight 
affair;  but  that  was  not  the  whole  of  the  truth  about 
it.  At  home,  in  the  workshop,  and  in  his  own  little 


HOME  AGAIN.  469 

room,  as  well  as  in  business  intercourse  with  the 
world,  Stephen  had  made  the  most  of  every  open 
ing  to  push  his  search  after  knowledge.  He  neg 
lected  nothing,  and  he  forgot  nothing.  It  is  true, 
his  opportunities  were  not  large;  but  every  life 
offers  some;  and  it  is  astonishing  how  much  may 
be  done  where  a  man  does  all  he  can.  This  had 
been  Stephen's  constant  practice;  and  one  thing 
more  he  had  done;  he  had  studied  his  Bible.  And 
if  any  one  thinks  that  is  only  a  single  book  and 
not  to  be  regarded  as  a  great  factor  in  educational 
processes,  let  me  tell  him  that  it  is  more  than  equal 
to  any  other  hundred  books  he  could  pick  out,  and 
a  more  powerful  factor  in  the  work  of  building  up 
a  thorough  mental  structure  than  any  other  two 
hundred  that  could  be  named  unconnected  with 
it.  For  somehow,  somehow,  not  only  godliness 
is  "profitable  for  all  things,"  but  the  Bible,  the 
chart  and  charter-book  of  godliness,  is  in  another 
way  thje  same  also.  A  man  does  not  get  mathe 
matics  out  of  it;  but  knowledge  of  human  life, 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  knowledge  of  hu 
man  history ;  furthermore,  what  the  schools  never 
give,  comprehension  of  the  true  uses,  end  and  aims 
of  human  existence ;  a  balance  to  weigh  the  world 
withal  and  all  things  in  it,  so  that  the  small  is  no 
longer  mistaken  for  the  great,  nor  the  great  for  the 
small.  He  finds  a  chrism  there  that  clears  the 
mental  vision;  a  food  that  satisfies  the  soul  hunger; 
a  guide  that  saves  from  false  philosophy;  a  leading 
star  that  keeps  the  mind's  eye  true.  A  field  for 


470  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

life's  utmost  work,  a  prize  for  its  utmost  endeav 
ors,  an  object  for  its  utmost  capacities.  Finding 
all  this,  how  should  not  strength  and  sweetness 
both  characterize  his  mental  action?  how  should  not 
steady  growth  be  crowned  with  both  flower  and 
fruit?  Or,  to  speak  more  simply,  how  should  not 
habits  of  thought  and  feeling  grow  to  be  just  and 
sound  and  generous;  and  all  the  work  done  in 
them  and  through  them  be  work  to  stand  and  last? 
No  energy  misdirected,  no  powers  misused,  no  de 
sires  misplaced;  ah,  the  blessing  of  the  first  psalm 
comes  to  such  a  one: — "all  he  doeth  shall  prosper." 
Even  so,  all  has  not  been  said.  We  know,  for 
it  is  matter  of  every  day  experience,  in  ourselves 
and  in  others,  that  people  grow  like  those  they  live 
much  with.  Intercourse  and  association  tell  upon 
the  whole  man;  thought,  action,  aim,  refinement, 
culture,  all  are  apt  to  go  up  or  go  down  in  the  scale 
according  to  the  company  one  keeps ;  and  that  is 
true  of  the  company  of  books  as  well  as  of  living 
creatures.  Then  how  will  it  be  in  the  case  of  a 
man  who  spends  a  large  part  of  his  time  con 
sciously  in  the  presence  of  God  ?  who  is  frequently 
speaking  to  Him,  and  constantly  listening  to  his 
speaking;  whose  thoughts  and  sympathies  further 
more  are  busy  with  the  greatest  and  best  of  the 
men  that  have  lived  on  earth;  their  thoughts 
and  sayings  and  doings,  their  hopes  and  fears  and 
triumphs?  What  manner  of  man  is  he  like  to  be, 
who  breakfasts  with  Abraham  and  sups  with  Paul 
and  sings  David's  songs  in  the  night-time  ?  There 


HOME  AGAIN.  471 

is  but  one  answer;  and  yet  the  whole  is  not  said. 
For  the  mere  literary  qualities  of  the  Bible  must 
not  be  overlooked.  He  who  habitually  studies  it, 
has  his  thoughts  constantly  engaged  with  the 
greatest,  widest,  and  most  fundamental  of  all  sub 
jects;  gains  an  indispensable  key  to  all  other 
knowledge;  and  puts  his  taste  and  imagination 
under  the  culture  of  the  loftiest  reasoning,  arid  of 
the  grandest  and  tenderest  poetry,  and  of  the 
most  delicious  English,  that  are  to  be  found  in  the 
whole  stores  of  the  language.  It  works  refining 
and  beautifying  and  softening,  as  well  as  to  strength 
and  nobleness.  And  so  Stephen  Kay,  though  no 
college  had  harboured  him,  and  no  society — so 
called — had  given  him  its  polishing  touch,  and 
though  his  reading  had  been  confined  to  a  very 
few  books,  was  yet  a  thinker  as  well  as  a  reader,  had 
a  head  in  excellent  training,  and  a  very  gentle  culti 
vation  of  the  softer  mental  graces.  And,  as  gener 
ally  happens,  this  cultivation  shewed  itself  also  in 
the  outward  man  and  his  habits;  and  the  finest 
politeness  would  have  found  no  want  in  Stephen, 
nor  the  most  critical  taste  have  picked  out  occasion 
for  offence. 

The  effect  of  their  pleasure  journey  upon  the 
several  members  of  the  party,  may  be  gathered  from 
the  various  reports  they  made  of  it. 

"  0  pa,  it  was  perfectly  glorious !  "  Posie  cried  as 
she  threw  herself  into  her  father's  arms. 

"Was  it?— What?"  asked  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
holding  her  fast. 


472  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"0  everything,  papa!" 

"  Everything !  That  is  sweeping.  Well,  Erick, 
what  do  you  say  to  Niagara  ?  " 

"  We  have  had  a  most  pleasant  trip,  sir." 

"  It  went  off  very  well,  "  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  said 
in  private  to  her  husband.  "  I  really  think  Erick 
is  bitten.  " 

"I  don't  care  much  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Har 
denbrook,  "if  he's  the  only  one." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Hardenbrook?" 

"Never  mind,"  said  her  husband.  "I  am  afraid 
it  is  not  what  you  mean." 

Stephen's  report  was  delivered  to  Jonto.  As 
he  passed  through  the  kitchen,  she  straightened 
herself  up  from  bending  over  the  fire  and  looked 
at  him. 

"  Well,  lad !  "  said  she,—"  dar  you  is.  What  ha 
you  got  to  tell  folks  ?  " 

"  The  Lord's  works  are  wonderful,  Jonto." 

"  Aint  no  need  to  go  fur,  fur  to  find  out  so  much 
asdat!" 

"  No, — true ;  and  yet  you  do  not  know  what  my 
words  mean,  and  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  anyhow  ?  " 

i   "Niagara?     It  is  a  great  green  river,  pouring 
over  a  rock." 

"  Bigger  'n  dis  yer  river  ?  " 

"Cowslip?  that's  only  a  mere  brook  to  it." 

"  Clar !  Spect  dat  must  ha'  been  a  washer !  An 
did  you  get  all  you  wanted,  lad  ?  "  she  said,  look 
ing  at  him  a  little  wistfully. 


HOME  AGAIN.  473 

"  I  got  a  great  deal  more  than  I  expected,  Jonto," 
he  answered,  and  passed  on  up  to  his  own  room. 

44  Dimno  how  dey's  gwine  to  work  it !  "  muttered 
Jonto  as  she  turned  to  her  cookery.  "  Shouldn't 
wonder — "  But  there  she  stopped. 

Of  all  the  party,  however,  Stephen  was  the  one 
who  seemed  to  have  got  most  good  from  his  pleas- 
are.  Even  the  workmen  in  the  factory  noticed  how 
the  young  master, — they  did  not  call  him  that, 
though,  notwithstanding  it  was  Stephen's  real  po 
sition, — they  noticed  that  he  was  more  "up  to 
business"  than  ever.  His  eye  was  more  bright; 
more  quick  it  could  not  be,  to  see  all  it  ought  to 
see;  his  spirit  of  enterprise  seemed  to  have  got  a 
spur;  he  had  novelties  to  introduce  into  the  work. 
For  his  second  evening  in  New  York  had  also 
been  used  in  making  explorations,  and  that  time 
in  a  cabinet-maker's  shop;  and  he  gave  now  orders 
which  Mr.  Gordon  was  inclined  to  question.  Gor 
don  went  so  far  as  to  appeal  to  Mr.  Hardenbrook 
whether  these  new  ways  should  be  brought  into 
the  factory.  But  Mr.  Hardenbrook  disposed  of 
the  appeal  very  lightly,  assuring  Gordon  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  that  whatever  Mr.  Kay  said  he 
said.  And  Stephen  was  more  active  than  ever  in 
the  outer  part  of  the  business;  driving  about  and 
collecting  dues  and  engaging  timber  and  receiving 
orders,  with  increased  spirit  and  success,  if  increase 
could  be,  where  all  a  young  man's  promptitude  and 
intelligence  had  been  at  work  before. 

With  the  other  three  of  the  travellers,  life  seemed 


474  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

a  little  to  flag.  Erick  was  soon  going  away ;  that 
might  have  had  its  effect  upon  him;  and  the  ladies- 
found  home  a  trifle  hum  drum  after  the  Clifton 
House  and  perpetual  excursionizing.  And  then 
just  when  things  had  settled  down  again  into  their 
old  course,  Erick  really  did  take  his  departure. 

That  made  a  difference  in  the  home  life  that 
everybody  sensibly  felt.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  in 
dulged  in  open  lamentations,  and  declared  her- 
self  provoked  that  nobody  else  joined  in  with  her. 

" We  are  as  dull"  she  said  one  evening  at  tea, — 
"  as  dull  as  dried  peas !  " 

"  I  always  heard  peas,  shelled  peas,  referred  to 
as  rather  examples  of  liveliness?"  Stephen  said 
with  a  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  0  well !  "  said  the  lady,  "take  what  comparison 
you  like  better ;  of  course  it  is  nothing  to  you.  We 
are  as  dull  as  if  we  were  on  a  perpetual  railway 
journey." 

Here  there  was  an  outcry  from  Posie. 

"0  mamma,  how  can  you!  As  if  a  railway 
journey  was  not  something  perfectly  delightful !  " 

"With  somebody  to  keep  your  thoughts  always 
engaged  on  something  else.  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Har 
denbrook  with  lifted  eyebrows,  "I  understand  that. 
But  now  we  are  sunk  down  again  into  the  flattest 
of  flats !  1  do  think,  life  at  Cowslip  is  fit  for  noth 
ing  but  one  of  those  toads  that  live  in  trees  for  a 
thousand  years !  Nothing  on  earth  happens,  except 
that  we  grow  old." 

"Stephen  does  not  seem  as  flat  as  the  rest  of 


HOME  AGAIN.  475 

you,"  remarked  the  master  of  the  house.  "  He  has 
wound  up  things  at  the  factory  so  that  they  are 
going  at  a  new  rate.  Sharps  the  word  over  there, 
I  should  say.  Gordon  actually  came  to  me  this 
morning  to  ask  if  that  was  to  be  the  time  of  day ! " 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  laughed,  well  contented. 

"What  can  you  mean,  pa?"  said  Posie. 

"Stephen  has  been  introducing  improvements 
and  making  innovations.  I  expect  he'll  make  his 
fortune  yet  some  day — "  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
complacently  helping  himself  to  butter. 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook,"  said  his  wife  vexedly,  "  I 
do  believe  you  had  not  the  taste  to  appreciate 
Erick ! " 

"  He's  rather  a  nice  fellow,"  returned  her  hus 
band.  "I  don't  know  whether  he  will  make  his 
fortune.  Anyhow,  1  can  live  without  him.  I  hope 
you  can." 

"  Papa,"  said  Posie,  "  I  think  he  is  very  nice." 

"Yes,  my  dear, — as  boys  go.  I  am  sure  I  have 
nothing  against  him." 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  had  sense  enough  to  say  no 
more  just  then.  But  she  let  nobody  forget  Erick 
for  some  time.  Posie  moped  a  little,  but  only  a 
little;  and  then  things  fell  back  into  their  old  wont. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

IDYLLIC. 

IT  was  quite  true  that  Stephen  shewed  no  depres 
sion  at  their  guest's  departure ;  he  acted  rather 
as  if  a  weight  were  taken  off  him  which  had  been 
keeping  him  down.  Now  things  went  in  their  old 
proper  way  again.  He  came  at  once  into  his  place, 
the  place  from  which  Erick  had  ousted  him;  he 
was  again  installed  in  his  rights  as  Posie's  sole 
attendant,  helper,  and  guardian;  as  good  as  her 
brother,  in  every  way.  And  Posie  was  her  old 
sweet  self;  she  did  not  seem  to  miss  Erick,  after  the 
first  few  days;  her  pretty  face  was  as  loving  and 
confidential  and  bright  as  ever,  and  her  delight  in 
Stephen's  society  and  her  demands  upon  him  for 
all  sorts  of  aid  and  comfort,  were  just  after  the  old 
fashion.  The  fall  weather  and  frost  came  on,  a  few 
weeks  after  Erick  had  gone ;  and  Stephen  and  Posie 
harvested  quantities  of  nuts  and  brought  home  won 
derful  bunches  of  autumn  flowers  from  the  woods 
and  meadows.  And  they  went  driving,  and  they 
took  long  walks  together;  and  Posie  tried  to  sketch, 

while  Stephen  cut  pencils  and  held  umbrellas,  and 
(476) 


IDYLLIC.  477 

contrived  for  her  a  capital  little  folding  chair 
which  was  always  carried  along  on  such  occasions. 
Stephen  himself,  too,  had  unaccountably  taken  to 
botanizing.  He  had  found  or  bought  a  book  on 
botany,  and  suddenly  developed  a  passionate  de 
light  in  the  study  of  all  vegetable  growths  that 
he  could  find  near  or  far.  He  tried  to  draw  Posie 
in.  Posie  hearkened  to  his  lectures,  looked  at  his 
specimens,  endeavoured  to  understand  the  differ 
ence  between  petals  and  stamens,  and  finally  shook 
her  head. 

"  I  like  to  look  at  the  dutside  and  you  want  to 
get  into  the  inside,  Stephen.  It  is  just  the  same 
with  this  as  with  everything  else.  That  is  always 
the  way  with  you  and  me." 

"Then  we  ought  to  teach  each  other,"  said  he. 

"  I'll  teach  you,  all  I  know  myself;  but  I  can't 
go  into  things  as  deep  as  you  do ;  it's  no  use." 

"  Flowers  are  not  deep" 

"You  are,"  said  Posie  laughing.  "Here — take 
this  pencil  and  see  if  you  cannot. draw  something." 

Stephen  always  did  as  she  bade  him,  so  he  did  now. 
And  by  and  by  it  was  found  that  he  had  an  eye 
as  true  as  a  pair  of  compasses,  and  a  hand  as  bold 
and  free  and  steady  as  the  flight  of  an  eagle.  Posie 
had  very  small  knowledge  to  impart  for  his  guid 
ance  ;  only  her  entreaties  stimulated  him  to  perse 
verance,  and  very  soon  he  needed  no  stimulating. 
His  delight  in  the  work  was  enough  of  itself.  And 
Posie,  who  could  do  no  great  things  with  her  own 
pencil,  had  knowledge  sufficient  to  see  that  Stephen 


478  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

was  quite  outstripping  her  and  shewing  a  very 
marked  capacity  and  quick  growing  skill.  And  now 
the  two  spent  literally  all  the  time  Stephen  had  at 
command  in  the  garden,  the  fields,  or  the  woods. 
In  the  more  distant  fields  and  woods  when  they 
could;  otherwise  they  betook  themselves  to  the 
garden.  Those  were  times  of  supreme  felicity  for 
both  of  them;  they  lacked  nothing.  What  with 
nature,  and  art,  and  each  other,  how  could  they 
have  more?  And  Posie's  face  was  as  fresh  as  a 
wild  rose,  and  as  bright  as  a  bob-o-link,  and  she 
herself  as  running  over  with  joy  and  merriment 
Stephen  was  cut  in  another  pattern  and  shewed 
his  pleasure  differently,  but  to  one  who  knew  him, 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  reading  it.  How  shall 
I  liken  Stephen's  manifestation  at  these  times  ?  I 
can  think  of  nothing  but  a  deep  inland  pool  or 
Scotch  loch;  quiet  and  even,  but  touched  with 
every  surrounding  influence  of  beauty,  and  sending 
back  an  answer  to  it;  losing  no  smallest  thing  of 
all  that  presented  itself,  yet  giving  the  impression 
not  of  momentary  and  superficial  brightness,  but 
of  an  abiding  depth  of  peace. 

The  two  were  out  one  day,  one  calm,  gentle 
October  afternoon,  at  the  edge  of  a  piece  of  woods, 
sketching.  They  were  both  working  at  the  same 
subject,  and  Stephen  was  absorbed  in  his  drawing; 
while  Posie  was  playing  with  hers  and  thinking 
of  other  things,  more  or  less.  Suddenly  she  broke 
out, — 

"Stephen,  what  makes  you  so  happy?" 


IDYLLIC.  479 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  be  happy  ?  " 

Why  indeed?  for  Stephen  was  just  putting  a 
tree  into  its  place  in  his  drawing,  and  doing  it  with 
a  better  touch  and  more  success  than  heretofore. 

"Well,  you  should  be  happy;  and  yet,  Stephen, 
what  makes  you  so  much  more  happy  than  other 
people,  who  have  as  good  as  you  have — and  more." 

"  I  question  that,  mind  you." 

"Yes,  but  in  many  things  they  have.  Cousin 
Erick,  for  instance;  he  has  everything  you  have, 
and  more  of  some  things ;  why  isn't  he  as  happy 
as  you  are  ?  " 

"  Did  he  say  he  was  not  happy  ?  " 

"No,  no !  but  I  can  see.  It  is  easy  to  see.  Erick 
can  be  bright  and  lively  and  pleasant,  and  seem 
to  enjoy  himself,  but  when  I  look  from  his  face 
to  yours, — there  is  such  a  queer  difference!  He 
is  bright,  but  he  is  not  happy,  He  don't  look 
contented'' 

Silence,  Stephen  drawing  very  busily. 

"But  a  man  in  Erick's  place  ought  to  be 
happy  " — Posie  went  on. 

"  Everybody  ought  to  be  happy." 

"  Ought  they  ?  Then  people  are  not  what  they 
ought  to  be,  Stephen." 

"True." 

"  What  makes  you  different  ?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  I  am  ?  " 

"Why  yes!  of  course  I  am  sure.  Your  face 
shews  it  every  day." 

Stephen  was  again  silent. 


480  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  And  I  don't  see  how  you  can  say  that  every 
body  ought  to  be  happy.  It  is  not  possible  for  some 
people." 

"There's  no  obligation  where  there  is  no  possi 
bility." 

"Then  how  can  you  say  they  ought?" 

"  Because  it  is  possible,"  said  Stephen  smiling. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  say  that,  Stephen.  It 
does  not  seem  to  me' reasonable.  People  are  often 
in  trouble." 

"  Very  often." 

"  Then  they  can't  be  happy." 

"  You  are  begging  the  question." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  An  expression  I  got  from  Dunstable.  It  means, 
that  you  are  taking  for  granted  what  you  wish  to 
prove." 

"  It  proves  itself ! "  cried  Posie.  "  It  is  self-evident. 
Trouble  and  happiness  cannot  go  together." 

"  If  that  were  true,"  said  Stephen,  going  on  with 
his  drawing,  while  Posie  neglected  hers,  "  there 
could  be  no  happiness  upon  earth." 

"Why  not?     People  are  not  always  in  trouble." 

"  Do  you  call  anything  *  happiness '  which  will 
not  last?" 

"  I  don't  know; — well  no !  perhaps  not." 

"  Then  the  happiness  which  trouble  would  over 
throw,  cannot  be  happiness." 

"  Stephen,"  said  Posie  very  earnestly,  "  have  you, 
do  you  know,  a  happiness  which  trouble  will  not 
overthrow  ?  " 


IDYLLIC.  481 

"  I  don't  know,  Posie.     But  I  hope  so." 

"  How  can  you  ?  "  said  she  astounded. 

"  Don't  you  remember  our  talking  of  this  once 
before  ?  Suppose  I  love  God's  will  better  than  I 
do  my  own  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause,  of  more  length  than  was 
common  when  the  length  of  it  depended  upon  Po 
sie.  She  studied  Stephen,  whose  pencil  went  on 
uninterruptedly  with  its  busy  work. 

"Stephen,"  she  asked  with  a  voice  somewhat 
lowered,  "  does  anybody  do  that  really  ?  Isn't  that 
expression — I  have  heard  you  say  it  before,  but 
isn't  it — well,  just  a  way  of  expressing  submission 
to  what  one  cannot  help  ?  " 

"  Then  it  would  not  be  true.  For  it  means,  that 
I  do  not  want  to  help  it." 

"Oh  Stephen!" 

He  lifted  up  his  head  now,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  singular  look;  it  was  so  gentle  and  so 
strong, — and  so  sweet.  Posie  read  it. 

"Your  face  says  the  same  thing,"  she  cried; 
"  but  0  Stephen,  I  do  not  understand  how  you  can 
mean  it." 

"  It  is  nothing  mysterious." 

" It  seems  to  me  very  mysterious.  And  more;  it 
seems  to  me  quite  unnatural." 

"  It  is  not  unnatural." 

"I  don't  see  how  it  is  natural.  I  understand 
submitting;  it  may  be  hard  enough,  but  it  is  possible ; 
but  not  to  luish  to  change  things — 0  Stephen,  that  is 
extravagant ! " 


482  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"No,"  said  he;  "it  is  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world.  It  is  only,  loving  God  best." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  loving  him  best?  "  she  asked 
almost  fretfully. 

"Just  that.     Loving  nothing  else  so  well." 

"  But  Stephen  !  "— 

"What,  Posie?" 

"  I  know  religious  books  talk  of  that,  but  I  al 
ways  thought  it  meant  doing  one's  duty;  doing 
right,  because  it  is  what  God  commands,  and  being 
patient  in  trouble  because  it  is  his  will;  but  you 
speak  of  liking  the  trouble  !  " 

"No,  not  at  all;  only  of  liking  the  Will  that 
sends  it.  To  like  the  trouble,  would  be  unnatural." 

"  Stephen,"  said  Posie,  suddenly  sitting  up  straight 
and  looking  very  eager, — "  do  you  mean  this  ?  That 
if  I  wanted  something  very  much  that  you  could  do 
for  me,  but  you  saw  it  would  displease  God, — you 
would  do  your  duty  of  course;  I  understand  that; 
but  do  you  mean  that  you  would  not  rather  please 
me?"  ' 

"  If  I  could — "  Stephen  answered  smiling 

"  No,  no;  I  mean, — would  you  rather  please  God 
than  please  me?  I  don't  mean  duty;  would  you 
rather,  for  the  pleasure  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  would  ?  I  thought  you  liked  me  better  than 
anything  else  in  the  world  !  " 

"So  I  do,"  he  said  in  rather  a  lowered  tone. 
"  And  always  shall." 

There  was  again  a  pause;  Posie  perhaps  trying 


IDYLLIC.  483 

to  order  the  seemingly  discordant  elements  of 
thought  which  had  been  presented  to  her. 

"  I  do  not  see  into  it,"  she  began  again,  in  a 
somewhat  mortified  tone.  "  I  think — I  half  think — 
you  are  mistaken,  Stephen,  and  that  this  is  fancy. 
Or,  what  mother  calls  enthusiasm." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  what  she  calls  enthusiasm.  Many 
other  people  call  it  so  too.  But  there  are  many  also 
to  bear  witness  to  it  as  sober  truth.  That  little 
book  I  got  in  New  York  bears  witness  to  it.  There 
is  a  hymn  there  that  I  particularly  like,  which  says 
the  same  thing.  It  is  about  the  'Will  of  God.'  It 
goes  on  like  this,  Posie ; — 

"'I  know  not  what  it  is  to  doubt; 

My  heart  is  ever  gay; 
1  run  no  risk,  for  come  what  will, 
Thou  always  hast  thy  way.' — 

"  Do  you  see,  Posie  ?  " 

"No,  Stephen,  I  don't  see  a  bit  of  sense  in  it. 
'  His  way '  is  often  to  do  just  what  you  don't  like." 

"  But  if  I  love  him  so  well  that  I  love  his  will, — 
then,  don't  you  see,  all  goes  right  with  me  always  ? 
and  nothing  can  go  wrong  ? 

"  'I  have  no  cares,  0  blessed  Will ! 

For  all  my  cares  are  thine; 
I  live  in  triumph,  Lord,  for  thou 
Hast  made  thy  triumphs  mine. 

"'He  always  wins  who  sides  with  God, 

To  him  no  chance  is  lost; 
God's  will  is  sweetest  to  him  when 
It  triumphs  at  his  cost.'  " 


484  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

11  Why  ?  "  said  Posie.     "  I  don't  see  why." 

"I  have  studied  over  that.  I  suppose,  because 
then  he  gets  the  taste  of  it  pure  and  unmixed." 

"  Stephen,  you  do  talk  riddles  to-day." 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  hope  not.  It  is  no  riddle  to 
me.  And  at  any  rate,  you  see,  Posie,  that  the 
happiness  that  is  grounded  so,  is  beyond  fear  of 
overturn.  Take  the  Bible  testimony. — 

" '  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace,  whose 
mind  is  stayed  upon  thee.' — 

"  *  He  shall  not  be  afraid  of  evil  tidings;  his  heart 
is  fixed,  trusting  in  the  Lord.' — 

" '  All  things  shall  work  together  for  good  to 
them  that  love  God.' — 

"  'There  shall  no  evil  happen  to  the  just.' — 

"'The  Lord  God  is  a  sun  and  shield;  the  Lord 
will  give  grace  and  glory;  no  good  thing  will  he 
withhold  from  them  that  walk  uprightly.' — 

"  '  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ?  and  there 
is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside  thee.' — • 
What  is  the  matter  Posie  ? ' " 

For  Posie  was  crying. 

"  If  that  is  what  it  is  to  be  a  Christian,  there  are 
very  few  Christians !  "  she  said  without  lifting  her 
face. 

"  See  you  be  one  of  the  few,  then." 

"  But  if  that  is  what  it  is  to  be  a  Christian,  I  am 
not  one, — and  I  never  was  one !  " 

"That  don't  follow.  Everything  must  have  a 
beginning.  Your  Christian  life,  and  every  Chris 
tian  life,  must  have  time  to  grow  to  maturity." 


IDYLLIC.  485 

"  How  long  has  yours  been  growing  ?  " 
"I  hardly  know,"  he  replied.  "It  began  when 
I  was  a  child,  I  think.  There  is  another  piece  in 
that  book  which  almost  tells  my  own  story.  I  did 
not  know  how  to  believe  my  eyes,  when  I  read  it 
first" 

"  0  Stephen,  shew  it  to  me !  " 
"  I  haven't  it  here.  I  will  when  we  go  home." 
Posie  did  not  let  him  forget  his  promise,  though 
for  the  matter  of  that,  Stephen  never  did  forget  his 
promises;  and  she  read  the  lines  with  intense  in 
terest;  with  even  something  like  awe.  Was  this 
Stephen?  was  this  the  life  which  she  had  always 
supposed  to  flow  in  such  narrow  everyday  chan 
nels?  Was  this  life  of  lofty  imagination — but 
would  she  be  right  in  calling  it  so  ?  was  it  imagi 
nation?  Could  it  be  reality?  Reality? — Posie 
was  ready  to  tremble.  Who  would  have  dreamed 
all  this  could  be  true  of  Stephen  ? — that  under  his 
very  calm,  unobtrusive  manner,  and  practical,  com 
mon-sense  way  of  attending  to  work  and  doing  his 
duty,  there  was  hidden  such  an  exquisite  refine 
ment  of  lofty  communings  and  sympathies?  that 
his  inner  life  was  in  such  a  sphere  of  sunshine  and 
upper  air  ?  Posie  pored  over  some  of  the  verses, 
feeling  that  she  had  never  known  before  what 
manner  of  person  this  was  whom  she  had  made 
her  servant  and  playfellow  and  whom  her  father 
had  found  his  right  hand  manager.  Was  this 
Stephen  ? 


486  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"At  school  Thou  wert  a  kindly  Face 

Which  I  could  almost  see; 
But  home  and  holyday  appeared 
Somehow  more  full  of  thee. 

"I  could  not  sleep  unless  Thy  hand 

Were  underneath  my  head, 
That  I  might  kiss  it,  if  I  lay 
Wakeful  upon  my  bed. 

"  And  quite  alone  I  never  felt, — 
I  knew  that  Thou  wert  near, 
A  silence  tingling  in  the  room, 
A  strangely  pleasant  fear. 

"And  to  home-Sundays  long  since  past 

How  fondly  memory  clings; 
For  then  my  mother  told  of  thee 
Such  sweet,  such  wondrous  things. 

"  I  lived  two  lives  which  seemed  distinct, 

Yet  which  did  intertwine; 
One  was  my  mother's — it  is  gone — 
The  other,  Lord,  was  thine. 

"I  never  wandered  from  thee,  Lord  ! 

But  sinned  before  thy  face; 
Yet  now,  on  looking  back,  my  sins 
Seem  all  beset  with  grace. 

'  With  age  thou  grewest  more  divine, 

More  glorious  than  before; 

I  feared  thee  with  a  deeper  fear, 

Because  I  loved  thee  more. 

"  Thou  broadenest  out  with  every  year, 

Each  breadth  of  life  to  meet; 
I  scarce  can  think  thou  art  the  same, 
Thou  art  so  much  more  sweet." — 


IDYLLIC.  487 

The  whole  hymn,  but  more  especially  these 
verses,  Posie  read  over  and  over,  wondering  at 
what  she  read.  Yes,  this  was  like  Stephen,  she 
could  now  see;  like  him  and  like  his  talk;  only  who 
would  ever  have  thought  his  quiet,  even  life  had 
such  springs  of  power !  or  that  his  evident  happi 
ness  stood,  like  the  celestial  city,  on  such  a  founda 
tion  of  gold  and  precious  stones! 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

QUESTIONABLE. 

THE  immediate  consequence  of  this  reading  and 
thinking  was  to  make  Posie  feel  humiliated, 
and  then,  to  make  her  feel  poor;  more  really  "poor 
in  spirit "  than  perhaps  she  had  ever  been  in  her 
life.  And  when  she  gave  back  the  book  to  Ste 
phen,  she  asked  him  with  tears  to  make  her  as 
good  as  he  was  himself. 

"Jam  not  good,"  said  Stephen  smiling;  "and  I 
cannot  make  you  good.  Don't  you  know  what  to 
do?" 

"  No.  0  Stephen,  won't  you  read  the  Bible  with 
me?" 

No  proposition  could  have  seemed  pleasanter  to 
the  recipient  of  it;  and  neither  could  any  have 
wrought  more  pleasure  to  both  parties  in  the  work 
ing  out  of  it.  All  that  whole  winter  there  was 
rarely  a  day  that  Stephen  and  Posie  failed  of  their 
reading.  They  had  few  external  helps  to  study; 
hardly  a  book  but  the  Bible  itself,  and  not  either 
of  the  two  possessed  even  a  reference  Bible;  but 
however,  perhaps  it  was  as  well,  for  Posie's  ques- 


QUESTIONABLE.  489 

tioris  were  simple,  and  best  dealt  with  simply. 
And  to  that  work  Stephen  was  quite  equal.  The 
reading  always  developed  into  a  talk,  often  very 
deep  talk;  absorbingly  interesting,  exceedingly 
beautiful,  of  personal  and  practical  urgent  concern. 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  grew  restless. 

"What  is  all  that  discussion  about,  that  you  and 
Stephen  are  so  fond  of?"  she  asked  discontentedly. 

"  0  mother,  we  are  just  reading  the  Bible." 

"Reading!  Talking  isn't  reading;  and  it  is 
talking  I  hear  all  the  time." 

"  Not  exactly  all  the  time,  mother." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Stephen  was  explaining  things  to  me." 

"  He  had  better  keep  to  what  he  understands !  I 
don't  believe  in  discussing  over  such  things.  What 
we  have  to  do  with  the  Bible  is  just  to  believe  it 
and  do  as  we  are  told.  You  children,  much  you 
know  about  explanations !  " 

"  Mother,  it  isn't  that  sort  of  explanations." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  understand  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"  And  you  think  Stephen  can  tell  you !  He,  who 
has  not  even  been  through  college !  " 

"Dear  mother,  college  does  not  teach  people 
their  duty." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  it  is  good  for, 
then!  Why  Posie,  you  are  ridiculous.  Every 
minister  you  ever  saw  in  your  life  has  been 
through  college;  and  he  couldn't  be  a  minister  if 
he  hadn't." 


490  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Posie  let  that  pass.  The  readings  continued, 
and  so  did  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  uneasiness.  And 
if  anything  had  been  wanting  to  bind  the  two 
young  people  faster  together,  truly  nothing  better 
could  have  been  devised.  Posie's  sweet,  earnest, 
innocent  face  never  looked  sweeter  than  when  her 
eyes  were  searching  the  Bible  and  Stephen's  feat 
ures  alternately,  to  find  out  the  truth  and  her  duty. 
Its  honesty  and  simpleness  and  tenderness,  often 
with  tears  trembling  in  the  soft  eyes,  and  the 
mouth  grave  and  childlike,  did  well  nigh  bewitch 
Stephen,  though  to  do  him  justice  he  never  shewed 
it.  And  to  Posie  on  her  side,  the  strong,  true  grey 
eyes  into  which  she  looked  so  frequently,  called 
unconsciously  for  a  larger  and  readier  tribute  of 
admiration  and  trust.  And  Posie  paid  it.  They 
were  such  true  eyes !  and  so  gentle  and  so  steadfast 
at  once!  and  the  mouth  was  so  quiet  and  firm. 
Posie  had  got  a  key  to  Stephen's  character  now, 
which  allowed  her  to  see  much  more  of  it  than 
she  had  formerly  known  to  exist;  and  with  her 
knowledge  her  estimate  grew.  Those  were  good 
hours  for  her  which  they  spent,  together  over  the 
Bible;  and  manifestly  Posie  felt  the  influence  of 
them.  She  was  growing  more  serious  and  more 
sensible,  though  no  whit  less  bright;  sweeter  she 
hardly  could  be,  but  somehow  her  sweetness 
seemed  to  have  a  more  exquisite  flavour  to  it. 

Erick  had  spoken  of  coming  again  at  Christmas ; 
however  he  did  not  come.  Something  hindered 
him,  much  to  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  disappointment 


QUESTIONABLE.  491 

and  disgust;  and  she  treated  her  family  to  a  sour 
sauce  with  most  of  their  Christmas  fare.  The 
good  humour  of  the  others  was  meanwhile  so 
abundant,  that  the  sourness  was  overwhelmed. 
Nobody  but  her  seemed  to  care  a  bit  for  Erick's 
non-appearance;  I  am  afraid  Stephen  and  Mr. 
Hardenbrook  were  even  glad  on  that  account. 
Nothing  disturbed  the  peace  of  that  holy  tide,  for 
her  family  were  too  much  accustomed  to  Mrs. 
Hardenbrook's  lifted  eyebrow  to  make  much  ac 
count  of  it. 

And  after  Christmas  was  passed,  the  rest  of  the 
winter  flowed  on  in  gentlest  course;  with  a  grad 
ually  swelling  tide  of  love  and  harmony  and  en 
joyment.  Busy  days,  and  evenings  of  most  dear 
society;  nights  of  peace,  and  mornings  of  vigorous, 
glad  awaking,  succeeded  each  other;  each  better 
than  the  last,  or  seeming  so.  -  Mr.  Hardenbrook 
was  immensely  comfortable;  Stephen  and  Posie 
hardly  knew  how  the  time  went.  Mrs.  Harden 
brook's  eyebrow  became  permanent. 

I  think  it  was  in  the  course  of  this  winter  that 
it  began  to  dawn  upon  Stephen,  that  sometime  he 
would  have  to  step  out  of  his  reserve  and  say  cer 
tain  very  distinct  words,  to  Mr.  Hardenbrook  first 
and  then  to  Posie.  Or  to  Posie  first;  he  had  not 
settled  that;  and  indeed  he  thought  they  under 
stood  one  another  pretty  well  without  words.  Yet 
it  would  certainly  be  necessary  to  speak  them;  and 
becoming  clearly  aware  of  this  for  the  first  time, 
Stephen  now  and  then  lay  awake  thinking  of  it. 


492  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

Yes, — he  must  ask  Mr.  Hardenbrook  for  his  daugh 
ter,  if  he  were  ever  to  have  her;  that  would  be  both 
a  usual  and  a  necessary  preliminary.  Ask  Mr. 
Hardenbrook  for  his  daughter !  It  startled  Ste 
phen,  now  when  he  came  to  put  his  thought  into 
words.  He,  a  poor  boy,  with  no  business  nor  in 
come  nor  home  of  his  own ;  no  prospects,  but  what 
depended  on  his  benefactor's  good  pleasure;  no 
place  in  the  world,  nor  station,  to  which  he  could 
lift  Posie  up.  And  she,  her  father's  daughter  and 
the  only  one,  therefore  heiress  of  all  his  property; 
a  beauty,  and  a  treasure  generally;  it  would  be 
asking  for  much,  to  ask  for  her.  All  this  in  Ste 
phen's  mind  was  not,  it  is  true,  mingled  with  any 
real  misgiving  as  to  what  Posie's  father  might  say 
to  such  an  application.  Of  course  the  question 
had  never  been  broached  between  them,  nor  the 
subject  so  much  as  allude/1  to;  nevertheless  Ste 
phen  had  a  certain  comfortable  assurance  that  on 
that  score  he  had  nothing  to  fear;  Mr.  Harden 
brook's  absolute  trust  in  him,  respect  for  his  opin 
ions,  reliance  upon  his  assistance,  and  affection  for 
his  person,  were  too  undoubted;  had  been  too  often 
manifested;  Stephen  believed  his  suit  would  meet 
with  no  disfavour  in  that  quarter.  It  was  different 
with  Mrs.  Hardenbrook.  Stephen  thought  it  over 
and  over.  He  was  just  as  sure  that  she  would 
make  the  most  of  every  objection  that  could  be  al 
leged  against  his  proposition,  and  would  not  fail 
to  roll  them  up  together  like  an  avalanche  to  crush 
him  and  it  at  once.  If  she  could.  Stephen  did  not 


QUESTIONABLE.  493 

believe  she  could  do  it;  however,  the  endeavour 
was  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  anticipate. 

Stephen  thought  about  it  a  great  deal,  and  shrank 
from  bringing  the  matter  to  immediate  decision. 
He  was  very  young  yet,  and  so  was  Posie ;  his  im 
portance  in  Mr.  Harden  brook's  business  was  grow 
ing  with  every  day;  nothing  could  turn  Posie's 
affection  from  him;  and  the  intercourse  of  the 
present  moment  was  as  sweet  as  could  be  desired. 
Were  it  not  the  better  way  to  let  it  be  undisturbed 
for  the  present,  and  allow  time  to  work  its  wonder 
ful  work  of  smoothing  roughnesses  and  healing- 
divisions  and  cementing  connections  and  removing 
hindrances  out  of  the  way  ?  There  might  be  cer 
tainly  something  said  for  another  line  of  time's 
working,  which  is  not  all  to  soften  and  to  heal ; 
but  then,  one  day  slipped  by  after  another,  one  so 
like  another  that  it  was  difficult  to  say  why  to 
morrow  might  not  do  as  well  as  to-day  for  any 
special  new  thing;  and  Stephen's  genuine  modesty 
and  shyness  (on  this  point,  for  he  was  not  troubled 
with  shyness  in  any  other  connection)  kept  him 
quiet.  He  thought  by  and  by  would  be  better 
than  now.  He  might  wait  perhaps  till  he  was  a 
year  older,  and  then  speak  with  more  advantage. 
Meanwhile  he  had  Posie  all  to  himself,  and  they 
were  both  contented  with  the  existing  state  of 
things. 

So  the  days  went  by,  with  a  soft  and  bright  pro 
gress  most  like  that  of  the  sun  through  the  heavens 
on  a  summer's  day.  One  does  not  fairly  see  Apollo's 


494  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

swift  chariot,  the  dancing  hours  come  so  between. 
Yet  it  moves  on  its  way;  climbs  the  vault  of  hea 
ven,  and  goes  down  on  the  other  side,  and  is  near- 
ing  the  portals  of  the  west  before  we  know  where 
we  are.  Before  the  course  of  that  sunshiny  time 
was  ended,  however,  there  came  a  slight  cloud 
over  the  sunshine. 

The  cloud  was  Erick  Dunstable  again.  He  ar 
rived  for  the  long  vacation,  as  he  had  come  last 
year;  and  as  it  had  been  last  year,  so  it  was  this 
year;  he  did  a  good  deal  monopolize  Posie.  It 
was  all  perfectly  natural,  as  Stephen  said  to  him 
self;  but  he  had  to  say  it  to  himself  a  trifle  too 
often.  Of  course,  Erick  was  a  visiter,  and  must  be 
attended  to;  he  was  a  novelty,  and  would  neces 
sarily  be  listened  to  and  welcomed  as  a  change 
from  the  monotone  of  the  winter.  Yet  how  sweet 
that  monotone  had  been !  Stephen  would  never 
have  wanted  a  change,  except  to  have  more  and 
more  of  such  sweetness.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  how 
ever,  and  Posie,  seemed  to  delight  in  new  ways  and 
varieties  of  amusement.  There  was  no  journey  to 
Niagara  or  elsewhere  this  summer;  instead,  there 
were  drives  without  end,  all  about  the  country; 
sometimes  walks;  and  generally  the  drives  were  of 
Posie  and  Erick  alone,  for  the  buggy  held  most 
conveniently  two,  and  Stephen  was  frequently  en 
gaged  with  business  at  the  time  the  other  two  were 
going  for  pleasure.  At  home  there  were  now  no 
more  Bible-readings  and  earnest  talks  about  the 
things  of  the  Bible.  Of  course,  as  Stephen  said  to 


QUESTIONABLE.  495 

himself, — how  could  there  be?  for  such  talks  brook 
no  listeners  that  are  uninterested,  and  there  was 
no  place  nor  time  when  they  could  be  held  in  pri 
vate  between  Stephen  and  Posie  alone.  Instead  of 
that,  now  there  was  tea  out  of  doors,  in  the  arbour ; 
Erick  and  Posie  picking  fruit  for  the  table  together, 
and  together  preparing  it,  amid  no  end  of  talking 
and  laughing;  and  Stephen  would  come  in  at  the 
end  and  help  eat  it — or  quite  as'  often  not  help — as 
the  case  might  be.  The  fruit  seemed  to  be  singu 
larly  tasteless  to  him  much  of  the  time. 

It  was  a  very  busy  summer  for  Stephen.  Heavy 
orders  came  in;  business  prospered;  Mr.  Harden- 
brook  laughingly  said  it  was  because  of  Stephen's 
enterprise  and  skill;  "as  if  the  business  had 
not  always  prospered ! "  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  said 
scornfully. 

*'  Never  so  well  as  now,"  her  husband  answered. 

"Then  I  should  think,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  you 
might  soon  give  up  the  business.  You  have  made 
money  enough,  haven't  you  ?  Let  Stephen  take 
the  factory  off  your  hands;  and  then  we  needn't 
be  tied  to  Cowslip  any  longer." 

"  Where  would  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"0  anywhere!  some  place  where  people  live 
differently.  I  am  tired  of  Cowslip  ways.  I  would 
like  to  live  near  Boston — or  in  it;  and  have  things 
a  little  nice." 

"  0  mother,  don't  you  think  we  have  things  nice 
here  ?"  Posie  cried,  forgetting  her  own  former  wish. 

"Nice  for  people  who  know  no  better!"     Mrs. 


496  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

Hardenbrook's  nostrils  were  beginning  to  play- 
ominously. 

•u  If  we  followed  your  suggestion,  and  went  away," 
her  husband  remarked,  "  we  should  lose  Stephen." 

"  Quite  time — "  said  the  lady  with  a  significant 
emile. 

However,  this  was  empty  talk.  Mr.  Hardenbrook 
had  no  mind  either  to  quit  Cowslip,  give  up  his 
business,  or  lose  his  right  hand  man;  and  things 
went  on  after  the  usual  fashion  to  the  end  of  the 
summer.  Only,  that  as  I  said,  Stephen  was  very 
much  preoccupied,  and  had  far  less  share  than 
common  in  whatever  was  going  on  that  was  not 
business.  Rides  and  drives  and  walks  and  talks; 
even  picnics,  and  little  nights  to  the  nearer  large 
towns,  all  nourished  and  were  enjoyed  without  his 
help  or  presence.  But  then,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  was 
making  money  hand  over  hand;  and  when  Stephen 
joined  the  family  after  one  of  the  pleasure-takings 
above  mentioned,  Posie  would  welcome  him  with  a 
most  loving  smile,  and  would  sit  down  by  him  and 
tell  him  all  about  what  they  had  been  doing.  Ste 
phen  tried  to  be  patient  and  hope  for  Erick's  return 
to  his  studies;  and  meanwhile  did  his  duty. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

CHESTNUTS. 

is  a  proverb,  that  the  longest  lane  has 
1  a  turning.  So  it  befel  at  Cowslip  also.  The 
summer  passed  by,  slowly  or  quick  as  people  con 
sidered  it;  the  first  half  of  September  followed  in 
its  train;  and  then  Stephen  breathed  freely,  for 
Erick  was  gone.  He  had  had  a  very  pleasant 
vacation,  he  said,  and  no  doubt  it  was  true,  or  he 
would  not  have  staid  so ;  and  furthermore  he  prom 
ised  the  family  and  himself  that  he  would  come 
this  year  and  keep  Christmas  with  them.  Stephen 
hoped  something  might  hinder  him  again. 

But  he  took  up  anew  now  the  questions  that  had 
busied  him  some  months  before.  During  the  sum 
mer,  when  he  had  been  engrossed  with  business 
and  everybody  else  with  their  visiter,  it  had  obvi 
ously  been  no  time  to  agitate  propositions  that  in 
volved  the  future  of  the  whole  family;  now  there 
was  a  lull  in  parties  of  pleasure,  the  household  had 
fallen  back  into  its  old  ways;  what  time  could  be 
better  than  this  for  Stephen  to  make  known  his 
plans,  before  some  other  hindering  or  disturbing 
element  should  come  in  his  way  ?  He  was  nearly 

(497) 


493  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

a  year  older,  besides ;  Mr.  Hardenbrook  very  pros 
perous,  himself  very  important  to  his  employer. 

Yet  Stephen  delayed  from  day  to  day.  There 
was  no  hurry,  he  told  himself;  he  might  wait  for  a 
good  time;  and  where  things  were  so  pleasant,  he, 
like  many  another  man,  was  slow  to  speak  the  word 
which — whatever  way  they  might  take — would 
break  up  these  conditions  for  evermore.  So  Sep 
tember  ran  out,  and  October  came,  and  three  weeks 
of  October  were  gone.  Frost  had  already  set  in, 
and  the  woods  were  in  russet  brown,  with  a  dash  of 
gold  here  and  there  where  a  hickory  stood,  or  a 
purple  blotch  where  some  great  ash  tree  spread  its 
branches  in  sober  symmetry. 

"Have  you  got  the  nuts  from  the  hill  trees?" 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  asked  one  morning  at  breakfast. 

"  No,  papa,  that  we  haven't,"  said  Posie.  "  It  is 
too  bad !  but  Stephen  has  been  so  busy." 

"  That's  nonsense !  he  needn't  stick  so  close  as 
that.  Stephen  has  time  enough.  I  advise  you  to 
go  this  afternoon.  It's  going  to  be  a  royal  day; 
and  you  know  we  can't  count  upon  this  sort  of 
thing  lasting." 

The  "  hill  trees"  were  certain  fine  large  chestnuts, 
which  grew  at  the  foot  of  a  rocky  ridge  a  good 
half  mile  away.  Stephen  and  Posie  had  always 
gathered  those  nuts  together,  year  after  year;  this 
year,  what  with  Stephen's  engagedness  in  business 
and  what  with  the  engrossment  of  his  thoughts, 
the  chestnuts  had  been  forgotten  or  neglected. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook's  proposition  was  received  with 


CHESTNUTS.  499 

acclamation;  and  after  the  early  dinner,  Posie  and 
Stephen,  equipped  with  baskets  and  a  long  pole, 
set  off  on  their  walk. 

It  was  so  fair  as  an  afternoon  in  October  can  be; 
and  no  month  in  the  year  can  shew  fairer,  unless 
November  at  the  Indian  summer  time.  The  air 
was  absolutely  still ;  the  little  racks  of  clouds  lay 
at  rest  on  the  blue ;  not  a  breath  moved  the  brown 
leaves  that  were  ready  to  fall.  A  little  haziness 
in  the  distance  gave  a  touch  of  luxurious  repose 
to  the  colouring,  more  ordinarily  sharp  with  the 
vigour  of  the  North ;  yet  it  did  not  disturb  the  crystal 
transparency  of  the  air  near  at  hand  and  over  the 
heads  of  the  walkers.  It  did  just  soften  the  colour 
ing  of  woodland  and  fields,  though  mysteriously 
and  scarcely  to  be  recognized.  Brown,  and  gold, 
and  purple,  and  red, — the  dark,  rich,  dull  red  of 
the  red  oaks,  for  the  brilliancy  of  the  maples  was 
passed  by.  Brilliancy  would  hardly  have  suited 
the  day,  so  well  as  this  soft,  dainty,  tender  tone 
of  colour,  to  which  all  sharp  contrasts  seemed  for 
eign.  The  eye,  not  dazzled,  searching  for  the 
individual  tints,  found  them  most  delicate  and 
delicious.  Then  there  were  soft  brown  stubble 
fields;  now  and  then  a  patch  of  up-turned  soil; 
little  strips  of  grass  along  by  the  fences,  really 
green ;  but  all  subdued  and  harmonized  together, 
as  they  are  at  no  other  time  of  the  year.  Spring 
is  alive  with  hidden  activity;  summer  is  revelling 
in  wealth  and  power,  calling  out  her  flowers,  dis 
tributing  her  fruit,  ripening  her  grain,  working  the 


500  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

strange  work  for  which  all  green  leaves  are  the 
laboratory;  her  vapours  and  her  sunshine,  her  winds 
and  her  storms,  are  mighty  and  busy.  October  looks 
on  it  all  done;  the  grain  is  in  the  barn,  the  flowers 
have  ripened  their  seeds  and  strengthened  their  roots 
for  another  year;  the  trees  have  added  another  ring 
of  woody  tissue  to  their  great  stems;  the  heats  and 
the  storms  have  passed  away  with  the  need  for 
them.  Nature  is  resting.  And  this  October  day, 
as  she  often  does  in  October  days,  she  was  resting 
in  a  very  luxury  of  complacency.  And  these  moods 
of  nature  are  catching;  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  sym 
pathizing  with  them;  the  material  speaks  to  the 
spiritual,  as  it  has  such  a  power  of  doing,  and  on 
such  a  day  bids  rest  and  peace  to  the  heart. 

Stephen  and  Posie  both  felt  it,  as  they  stepped 
along  over  the  short,  dry,  warm  grass  of  the 
meadows,  and  perhaps  it  made  them  both  silent. 
They  had  talked  at  first,  briskly,  when  first  set 
ting  out;  gradually  talk  had  died  away,  and  they 
walked  on  silently;  hearing,  if  they  heard  anything, 
the  tread  of  their  feet  on  the  crisp  herbage;  for 
other  sound  there  was  none.  Stephen  had  com** 
out  with  the  fixed  intention  of  speaking  all  his 
mind  to  Posie  before  they  went  home ;  he  was  fully 
purposed  to  do  it;  yet  there  was  no  hurry;  he  had 
her  all  to  himself  and  with  no  sort  of  danger  of 
interruption;  he  might  take  his  time.  For  the 
moment  he  had  all  he  wanted;  and  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  that  moment  made  him  slow  to  touch  it 
even  by  a  touch  that  would  heighten  the  beauty. 


CHESTNUTS.  501 

Who  does  not  know  what  it  is,  the  impulse  to  let 
a  perfect  minute  alone,  no  matter  with  what  better 
he  may  propose  to  replace  it.  Stephen  was  full  of 
content;  the  loveliness  and  the  peace  of  nature 
found  their  reflection  and  counterpart  in  his  own 
heart,  and  Posie  and  he  were  alone  together  again 
and  had  the  day  and  the  beautiful  world  to  them 
selves.  And  Posie  was  wonderfully  pretty,  as  she 
went  along  there  beside  him  and  he  stole  from  time 
to  time  a  look  at  her.  She  was  dressed  in  a  light 
green  dress  of  cambric ;  nothing  could  be  more  sim 
ple  ;  but  nothing  at  the  same  time  could  better  have 
set  off  the  fresh  fairness  and  sweetness  of  his  lit 
tle  life's  companion.  Her  colour  was  most  deli 
cate;  peach  blossom  on  the  white;  not  after  a  fixed 
fashion,  but  stirring  and  flushing  and  passing  and 
deepening  again  with  the  moods  of  the  moment. 
More  delicately  changeable  Stephen  thought  he 
had  never  seen  it.  And  the  soft  brown  hair,  not 
light  nor  dark,  was  in  accordance  with  the  com 
plexion,  lightly  curling  about  the  white  brow  and 
those  peach  blossom  cheeks.  It  was  the  very 
same  creature  that  had  taken  his  childish  heart 
by  storm  at  seven  years  old ;  bright,  arch,  winning, 
wilful,  sweet;  only  of  late  the  wilfulriess  had  been 
less  and  the  sweetness  greater.  The  features  were 
mobile  and  delicate;  not  an  unlovely  line  in  the 
whole  dear  little  face;  and  to-day  Stephen  fancied 
it  particularly  bewitching.  He  was  ready  to  think 
that  Posie  as  well  as  he  felt  the  delight  of  their 
being  together  again  after  the  old  fashion ;  he  even 


502  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

was  ready  to  fancy  that  she  had  some  instinctive 
sympathy  with  the  feeling  that  possessed  him ;  and 
without  knowing  what  he  had  in  his  mind  to  say 
to  her,  was  happy  as  he  was  happy.  She  looked 
happy.  There  was  a  certain  satisfied  line  of  lip 
and  quick  smile  of  the  eye,  when  occasionally  he 
spoke  or  she  spoke  and  she  looked  up ;  something 
which  he  could  not  define,  that  made  her  more 
than  ever  like  a  sweet  briar  blossom  among  its  spicy 
green  leaves ;  so  dainty,  so  delicate,  so  rosy  lovely. 
She  had  talked  at  first  when  they  were  beginning 
their  walk;  she  had  exclaimed  at  the  beauty  of 
everything;  but  now  she  was  not  talking,  and 
often  was  not  even  looking,  for  Stephen  often  found 
her  eyes  cast  down  to  the  ground  where  she  was 
stepping.  So  they  went  on  from  one  field  to 
another;  and  over  one  fence  after  another.  Ste 
phen  meant  to  begin  presently  what  he  had  to  say, 
but  the  October  day  was  simply  perfect,  the  silent 
companionship  soothing  and  satisfying;  and  scarce 
a  word  was  exchanged  between  the  two  while  they 
crossed  the  last  field  and  climbed  over  the  last  fence 
that  separated  them  from  the  chestnut  trees. 

There  were  several  of  these,  and  they  grew  along 
by  the  foot  of  a  rocky  ridge  covered  with  sparse 
woods;  not  susceptible  of  cultivation.  Being  in  a 
very  out  of  the  way  place,  the  trees  were  mostly 
un visited  except  by  their  two  selves;  and  every 
year  for  years  past,  Stephen  and  Posie  together 
had  harvested  the  riches  of  the  spoil.  It  was  late, 
this  year,  but  nobody  had  been  beforehand  with 


CHESTNUTS.  503 

them.  On  the  ground  and  on  the  branches  the 
half-opened  burrs  were  thick  and  yellow  and  plenty. 

"  All  safe,  Stephen," — said  Posie,  as  she  looked 
up  and  saw  them. 

"  Nobody  has  been  here," — he  assented.  It  was 
pretty  there  under  the  chestnut  trees;  solitary  and 
still;  the  rocky  ridge  rising  up  just  behind  them 
with  its  clothing  of  parti-coloured  woods.  Here 
a  dark  red  oak,  there  the  dull  buff  of  a  chestnut 
oak;  yonder  a  spot  of  golden  yellow  where  a  hick 
ory  was  dropping  its  leaves;  and  rocks  and  ferns 
and  countless  wild  undergrowths  between  the  rocks, 
all  spicy  and  warm  and  glowing  in  the  October  haze 
and  stillness.  Probably  the  consciousness  that  No 
vember  is  soon  coming  to  change  it  all,  adds  to 
one's  appreciation  of  the  extreme  beauty  of  such  a 
day;  but  Stephen  was  not  thinking  of  either  Octo 
ber  or  November;  instead,  he  was  full  of  the  sense 
that  now  was  the  time  to  say  what  he  had  to  say 
to  Posie,  before  they  began  their  nut-gathering. 
He  laid  down  his  pole  and  deposited  his  basket  on 
the  ground,  and  was  just  about  to  speak,  when 
Posie  prevented  him  by  speaking  herself. 

"  Stephen—" 

That  was  all,  in  a  hesitating,  soft  tone.  Stephen 
looked  up  quickly,  glad  of  a  word  that  would  per 
haps  help  him  to  introduce  his  own  subject.  Posie 
was  standing  with  her  basket  still  in  her  hand,  no 
longer  looking  at  the  chestnut  trees.  It  struck 
Stephen  that  she  had  something  more  serious  than 
usual  to  speak  about.  He  came  a  step  nearer. 


504  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  What  is  it,  Posie  ?  "  he  asked,  with  the  tone  of 
ready  sympathy  which  Posie  had  been  accustomed 
to  meet  from  him,  in  all  her  smaller  and  greater 
needs,  ever  since  she  was  seven  years  old.  A  gen 
tle,  manly,  kindly  voice,  which  hitherto  had  never 
failed  her. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  about  something — I  have 
been  wanting  to  get  a  good  chance  to  speak  to 
you," — she  began,  without  altering  her  attitude. 

"  No  time  can  be  better  than  now,"  he  answered 
cheerily.  "  Go  on,  Posie.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Stephen,  you  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  Erick 
Dunstable,  first  and  last,  these  two  summers  ?  " 

"  Yes — "  said  Stephen,  wondering.  "  Not  so  much 
as  some  other  people;  but  of  course  I  have  seen  a 
good  deal  of  him." 

"  How  do  you  like  him  ?  What  do  you  think  of 
him?" 

Could  Mr.  Hardenbrook  be  thinking  of  employ 
ing  Erick  in  any  way?  Could  Erick  in  any  way 
in  his  profession  be  useful  to  Mr.  Hardenbrook? 
The  questions  went  confusedly  through  Stephen's 
brain,  to  be  answered  by  negatives  as  fast;  along 
with  another  lightning  thought,  that  if  Erick  medi 
tated  anything  of  the  kind,  it  could  be  solely  and 
simply  for  the  sake  of  being  near  Posie. 

"  How  do  you  like  him  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Se 
riously." 

"  Why  I  think  he's  a  first-rate  fellow !  "  Stephen 
answered  in  his  bewilderment,  but  answered  true. 
"  I  like  him  very  much." 


CHESTNUTS.  505 

"Really?" 

"  Certainly.     Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  have  your  opinion.  I  think  more 
of  your  opinion,  Stephen,  than  I  do  of  anybody's  in 
the  world." 

"  Mr.  Hardenbrook  should  know  better,  Posie." 

"No,  he  is  not  a  young  man;  and  young  men 
know  each  other  best;  they  can  judge  best  of  each 
other.  Besides,  papa  is  a  little  prejudiced." 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  0  yes,  he  is;  he  thinks,"  said  Posie  with  a  half 
laugh,  "  that  all  young  men  should  be  built  upon 
your  pattern,  Stephen.  Now  you  know  that  can- 
riot  be." 

"  Not  to  be  wished,  either." 

"  0  yes,  it  is.  I  don't  think  anybody  hardly  is 
equal  to  you,  Stephen;  but  people  are  different. 
And  the  world  would  be  stupid,  I  suppose,  if  they 
were  not  different." 

"  I  think  there  is  only  one  Posie  in  all  the  world, 
and  I  am  glad  of  it." 

"And  I  think  there  is  only  one  Stephen,"  she 
said  laughing  a  little.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I 
am  glad  of  it.  It's  a  pity  for  the  world.  But  I  am 
very  glad  you  like  Erick." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Stephen  suddenly. 

"Because" — said  Posie  slowly— "if  you  didn't 
like  him,  Stephen, — I  really  don't  think  I  should 
want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  You 
know,"  she  went  on  more  freely  and  looking  up 
at  him  now,  "  you  know  we  are  just  like  brother 


506  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

and  sister ;  I  could  not  care  for  any  own  brother 
more.  After  my  father  and  mother,  there  is  no 
one  in  all  the  world  I  love  as  I  do  you,  Stephen. 
And  if  you  didn't  like  something,  or  disapproved 
it,  I  don't  see  how  I  could  take  any  pleasure  in  it. 
So  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask  you." 

Stephen  was  like  a  person  under  a  spell.  The 
very  extremity  of  the  occasion  seemed  to  keep  him 
outwardly  calm  and  undemonstrative,  as  he  stood 
opposite  to  her.  He  hardly  dared  look  into  her 
sweet  face,  or  meet  the  eyes  which  sought  his;  he 
knew  how  sweet  they  were,  in  unconscious  inno 
cence  and  tenderness  and  a  certain  wistful  happi 
ness;  in  which  this  time  he  had  no  share. 
"Yes,"  he  said  hoarsely; — "so  it  has  been." 
He  considered  whether  he  should  even  now  tell 
her  the  whole  truth ;  let  her  know  how  indeed  it 
had  been  with  him,  behind  all  that  brotherly  and 
sisterly  intercourse.  Should  he  tell  her  that  his 
earthly  all  went  where  she  went?  that  for  years 
she  had  been  the  o'ne  goal  of  his  life?  that  if  she 
gave  herself  to  another  she  left  his  heart  and  hopes 
empty  of  all  beneath  the  sun?  It  might  be,  she 
too  without  knowing  it  loved  him  better  than  sis 
ters  love  brothers.  It  might  be  yet,  that  if  bade 
to  choose  between  him  and  Erick,  she  would  not 
give  up  him.  Dared  he  speak?  his  one  chance 
was  now.  He  could  never  speak,  if  not  now. 
Should  he  let  her  know  how  it  was  ?  But  then,  if 
it  were  so,  that  her  love  for  him  did  not  go  be 
yond  what  a  sister  might  feel ;  then,  by  telling  her 


CHESTNUTS.  507 

how  it  was  with  himself,  he  would  simply  give  the 
death  blow  to  all  this  brotherly  and  sisterly  inter 
course  which  was  so  inexpressibly  precious  to  them 
both.  That  would  be  the  end  of  it,  if  she  knew 
that  he  loved  her  not  as  a  brother  and  wanted  from 
her  different  love  from  that  of  a  sister.  Affection 
would  not  be  killed,  no  doubt,  but  the  freedom  of 
the  relationship  would.  If  Erick  had  her  heart, 
Stephen  could  never  be  anything  to  her  but  a 
brother;  and  if  not  a  brother — then,  nothing!  He 
weighed  it  all  in  one  of  those  lightning-like  flashes 
of  thought,  which  do  the  work  as  thoroughly  as  if 
days  had  been  given  to  it.  The  risk  was  too  great. 
He  could  not  venture  it.  He  could  not  lose  this 
sweet  sisterly  confidence  and  clinging  and  inno 
cent  affection.  He  might  blow  it  all  away  like  a 
puff  of  smoke  by  a  few  incautious  words;  he  would 
not  speak  them.  The  long  habit  of  keeping  him 
self  in  hand  and  not  acting  from  impulse  or  giving 
way  to  passion,  stood  the  man  in  stead  now.  His 
whole  soul  was  as  a  garden  swept  by  a  hurricane, 
lying  in  wrecks  under  the  hail-storm ;  at  the  same 
time  it  was  a  wreck  shut  in  from  observation  by  a 
wall  of  defence.  He  shewed  nothing.  His  colour 
might  be  a  little  paler  than  usual,  but  that  Posie 
in  her  own  agitation  of  mind,  would  not  be  likely 
to  notice.  She  did  not  notice  anything  strange. 
It  was  quite  in  order  that  Stephen  should  be  sur 
prised,  startled,  and  sorry,  at  the  news  she  had 
told  him ;  she  had  expected  no  less.  She  watched 
him,  by  turns,  for  her  look  could  not  be  steady. 


508  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  It  will  always  be  so,  Stephen,"  she  went  on 
gently;  "nothing  can  change  what  we  are  to  each 
other." 

"  No — "  said  he.  Another  word  was  beyond  his 
powers.  Changes?  would  there  not  be  changes! 
what  earthly  thing  would  remain  unchanged  ? 

"  Of  course,"  Posie  went  on,  supplementing  her 
own  words,  "  of  course  I  shall  not  always  be  here. 
We  shall  not  always  be  seeing  each  other  every 
day.  But  we  shall  see  each  other?  You  will 
always  be  coming  to  see  me,  Stephen,  just  as  much 
as  my  father  and  mother  ?  Will  you  ?  no  matter 
how  business  goes  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  "  said  he,  for  her  manner  pressed  for 
an  answer,  and  "he  could  scarce  speak  that  one  word 
with  his  dry  lips.  He  took  up  the  baskets  again 
and  set  them  down  in  another  place,  and  came 
back  to  her.  He  wanted  to  get  to  work.  But  Po 
sie  stood  quite  still  and  had  forgotten  the  chestnuts. 

"I  cannot  tell  yet  just  where,"  she  said.  "That 
is  not  settled  yet.  But  Erick  has  an  excellent  pros 
pect  of  being  employed  on  a  piece  of  work — I  be 
lieve  it  is  railroad  work — down  in  Virginia ;  if  he 
gets  it  it  will  be  a  long  job,  and  it  will  pay  well. 
It  is  not  certain  yet;  Erick  thought  he  would  know 
about  it  before  he  comes  for  Christinas." 

Christmas !  The  word  went  through  Stephen's 
heart  like  a  sword,  only  it  did  not  kill  him.  He 
could  find  nothing  to  say. 

*'  In  that  case,"  said  Posie,  "  I  suppose  I  should 
be  in  Virginia;  and  it  would  give  you  quite  a  bit 


CHESTNUTS.  509 

of  the  travelling  you  like  so  much,  to  come  there ; 
and  shew  you  quite  a  new  part  of  the  world, 
wouldn't  it?" 

Travelling!  His  thoughts  made  a  leap  to  last 
year  and  Niagara.  He  could  not  stand  much  more 
of  this  sort  of  thing.  And  it  shewed  the  strength 
of  the  man  and  his  iron  hold  of  himself,  the  way 
his  next  words  to  Posie  were  quiet  and  gentle, 
having  no  roughness  in  them,  nor  any  hurry  of 
spirits.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  say  thaj  it  shewed 
something  better  yet;  a  mind  staid  on  God,  and 
an  habitual  sweet  agreement  with  his  will;  but 
the  strength  and  the  firmness  were  also  there. 

"We  shall  have  time  enough  to  talk  of  that," 
said  he.  "  What  do  you  think  now  of  attacking 
these  chestnut  trees  ?  " 

"Stephen,  you  are  very  cool!"  said  Posie,  half 
laughing. 

"Ami?  "  said  he.     "  I  don't  feel  it." 

"  No,"  said  Posie.  "  I  do  believe  you  have  more 
thoughts  behind  that  smooth  white  brow  of  yours, 
than  you  could  find  in  half  the  heads  in  the  country ! 
— and  you  are  not  cool  at  all,  I  know,  where  fire  is 
wanted." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  thoughts  that  don't  do  any 
body  any  good,"  said  Stephen,  preparing  to  swing 
himself  up  into  the  tree.  He  wanted  to  get  to  work 
and  be  busy,  and  not  stand  there  as  if  he  had  been 
turned  to  stone  before  Posie.  He  seemed  to  him 
self  benumbed,  as  one  can  be  with  despair.  But 
when  he  had  with  two  or  three  agile  and  vigorous 


510  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

movements  lifted  himself  up  into  the  tree-top,  this 
mood  changed;  and  an  intense  bitterness,  in  full 
life,  took  possession  of  his  soul.  As  soon  as  he 
found  himself  alone  in  the  head  of  the  great  chest 
nut  tree,  surrounded  by  its  leafy  wilderness,  and 
hidden  from  Posie's  affectionate  eyes,  the  paralysed, 
stony  feeling  passed  away,  the  spell  was  off  him, 
and  the  mental  action  became  exceedingly  vivid 
and  keen.  So  the  mental  pain.  If  there  was  any 
place  in  the;  world  that  Stephen  specially  delighted 
in,  it  was  the  head  of  a  great  tree ;  he  had  there 
a  sort  of  lifted-up  and  apart  feeling,  as  though  the 
world  were  beneath  his  feet;  he  seemed  to  breathe 
higher  air  and  to  have  kindred  with  more  ethereal 
living  creatures.  The  light  and  shadow  of  the 
great  leafy  canopy  were  unearthly,  or  at  least 
more  heavenly  than  earthly;  birds  came  and  went, 
unconcerned  about  the  quiet  new  inhabitant  of 
their  domain;  the  very  slight  motion  and  rustle 
of  the  leaves  about  him  had  a  curious  kind  of 
fellowship  and  welcome  in  it,  to  Stephen's  fancy. 
For  he  was  of  that  mind  to  which  the  promise  is 
already  made  good, — "The  stones  of  the  field  shall 
be  at  peace  with  thee."  To-day,  the  familiar  de 
light  and  beauty  of  the  great  chestnut  top  had 
the  effect  only  the  more  keenly  to  emphasize  his 
misery.  Up  there  in  the  sweet  leafage  and  under 
the  noble  arching  and  groining  of  the  tree  archi 
tecture,  Stephen  fought  one  of  those  mortal  fights 
with  pain,  which  human  creatures  know;  they 
come  once  or  more  into  many  human  lives;  and 


CHESTNUTS.  513 

even  when  the  victory  is  gained,  leave  often  a 
battlefield  marked  for  the  rest  of  life  by  its  wrecks 
and  scars.  He  was  no  longer  dull  and  benumbed, 
but  active  with  the  full  activity  of  which  his  na 
ture  was  capable;  doing  as  much  thinking  in  an 
hour  as  might  have  filled  out  many  ordinary  days. 
He  was  not  thinking  about  the  chestnuts,  and  yet 
his  hands  had  never  been  more  busy  with  them, 
nor  his  energy  more  skilful.  He  forgot  nothing; 
he  did  his  work  in  the  most  careful  and  thorough 
manner,  beating  off  the  nuts  with  his  long  pole, 
cleaning  branch  after  branch,  but  never  maiming 
the  tree;  not  going  to  work  in  a  blind  rage  of 
excitement,  as  many  a  one  would;  keeping  his 
self-mastery  still,  and  shewing  it  by  his  perfect 
attention  to  what  he  had  in  hand.  But  all  the 
while  he  was  thinking,  fighting  that  fight;  for 
the  pain  must  be  met  and  borne,  and  accepted,  and 
only  so  could  be  overcome.  It  followed  that  Ste 
phen  did  not  talk  much.  That  he  forgot,  or  per 
haps  he  would  have  forced  himself  to  say  at  least 
a  word  now  and  then.  He  worked  in  steady  si 
lence.  The  whip  of  his  pole  against  the  branches, 
the  rustle  and  tumble  of  the  chestnut  burrs  as 
they  fell,  was  all  Posie  heard;  and  she  heard  that 
as  in  a  dream,  and  scarce  missed  Stephen's  words 
which  did  not  come.  She  was  in  a  dream,  not 
like  his  condition  of  terrible  awakening;  in  her 
thoughts  a  succession  of  pleasant  images  were 
floating,  softly  and  sweetly,  with  only  alternations 
of  pleasantness.  She  had  told  Stephen  her  secret, 


512  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

it  was  off  her  mind;  he  had  given  his  approval 
frankly,  as  to  be  sure  she  knew  he  would;  there 
was  nothing  now  but  clear  sailing  before  her;  she 
gathered  up  her  chestnuts  into  a  heap  by  the 
wonted  stone  where  they  were  to  be  husked,  and 
did  not  even  notice  Stephen's  silence;  or  if  she 
noticed  did  not  wonder  at  it.  Of  course,  it  was  a 
great  surprise  to  him,  her  news,  and  not  without 
some  elements  of  disagreeableness  to  him ;  of  course ! 
she  felt  that  herself.  When  she  should  be  married 
and  gone  away,  yes,  there  would  be  something  for 
her  parents  and  Stephen  to  miss ;  he  had  to  get  ac 
customed  to  the  thought,  which  she  had  grown 
accustomed  to  long  ago.  So  she  gathered  her 
chestnuts  into  a  heap  and  her  mind  roved  off,  to 
somebody  else,  and  to  what  was  before  him  and 
her,  with  which  Stephen  and  all  the  world  beside 
had  nothing  to  do. 

So  it  was  a  silent  afternoon  in  the  sweet  October, 
while  one  in  the  tree  and  one  under  the  tree  were 
very  busy,  and  the  burrs  came  tumbling  down,  and 
the  sound  of  Stephen's  pole  beating  the  branches 
might  have  been  heard  some  distance  through  the 
still  air.  Earth  and  sky  so  at  peace,  and  a  human 
heart  at  fight  with  such  hard  warfare, — the  contrast 
makes  itself  keenly  felt  at  such  times.  But  as  I 
said,  Stephen's  mind  was  doing  a  great  deal  of  work 
under  high  pressure ;  and  when  the  last  tree  was 
stripped,  and  when  he  dropped  first  his  pole  and 
then  himself  to  the  ground,  he  was  quite  outwardly 
calm  and  entirely  master  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

i 

HARD  TALKING. 

THE  rest  of  the  work  was  hastily  done;  not  with 
the  sweet  leisure-taking  of  the  old  times;  for 
Stephen's  thoughts  were  still  seething  within  him 
and  he  did  not  feel  leisurely.  Besides,  the  quan 
tity  of  nuts  was  very  large,  and  the  afternoon  well 
advanced,  and  there  was  some  distance  to  walk 
home.  But  characteristically,  not  for  that  or  for 
anything  would  Stephen  shorten  the  work  or  shirk 
any  of  it  that  remained  to  do.  He  would  leave 
none  of  the  great  pile  of  chestnuts,  though  Posie 
admonished  him  that  he  could  never  carry  them 
all  home;  he  knew  better;  he  knew  he  could  carry 
any  burden  that  afternoon  and  not  feel  it.  He 
would  beat  the  nuts  out  of  every  burr;  and  kept 
Posie,  perhaps  willingly,  as  busy  as  she  could  be, 
picking  them  up  and  bestowing  them  in  the  bas 
kets.  Posie  laughed,  and  ran  about,  and  gathered 
the  chestnuts  up  from  the  grass,  and  hardly  noticed 
how  Stephen  worked  and  said  nothing.  For  the 
fight  was  by  no  means  fought  out  with  him ;  and 
though  he  had  got  the  upper  hand  of  himself  as  it 

(513) 


514  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

were,  and  knew  what  he  would  do,  he  was  not 
ready  to  play  about  it.  Work  was  all  in  order. 

The  baskets  were  heavy  with  chestnuts;  the 
burrs  lay  yellow  and  despoiled  all  about  upon  the 
ground ;  the  sun  was  low  in  the  sky.  This  sweet 
day  was  coming  to  a  sweet  end.  Posie  took  up  her 
basket,  which  was  small;  Stephen  slung  the  other 
to  the  big  end  of  his  pole  and  carried  it  so  over  his 
shoulder,  and  they  set  out  to  go  home.  It  did 
strike  Posie  that  her  companion  was  uncommonly 
silent;  for  when  alone  with  her,  in  other  times,  Ste 
phen  had  always  been  ready  enough  to  talk.  He 
strode  along  now  steadily  over  the  soft  turf  which 
hardly  gave  any  sound  from  his  steps,  and  he  made 
no  remark  about  anything.  It  struck  Posie,  and 
then  she  remembered  that  there  might  be  reason 
for  it,  and  she  could  venture  no  attempt  to  change 
his  mood,  if  it  wanted  changing.  Silently  and 
swiftly  they  went  on  beside  each  other,  crossing 
field  after  field,  making  light  of  the  fences,  .keeping 
an  unwavering  rate  of  progress,  till  they  came  to 
the  last  meadow  before  getting  out  upon  the  road 
again.  Here,  under  a  straggling  butternut  tree 
that  had  already  lost  all  its  leaves,  Stephen  sud 
denly  made  a  halt. 

"  Posie  you  are  tired !  I  have  walked  so  unmer 
cifully  fast." 

«  No," — she  said,  breathing  a  little ; — "  don't  you 
think  I  can  walk  as  fast  as  you  can  ?  " 

"  Sit  down  and  rest  a  bit." 

He  put  his  basket  on  the  ground  to  serve  as  a 


HARD  TALKING.  515 

seat  for  her,  and  Posie  to  please  him  sat  down. 
The  almost  level  rays  of  the  sun  fell  on  them  and 
lighted  them  both  up ;  they  made  a  pretty  picture, 
with  their  baskets,  under  the  straggling  arms  of 
the  brown  old  tree ;  but  nothing  was  further  from 
the  thoughts  of  either  of  them  than  picturesque 
effects  just  then. 

"  The  sun  is  almost  down,"  said  Posie  presently, 
for  Stephen  had  stood  beside  her  saying  nothing 
more.  "I  am  rested  enough,  Stephen.  Are  you?" 

"Wait,"  said  he.  "I  have  something  to  tell  you, 
and  I  have  been  just  thinking  how  to  do  it." 

"Something  to  tell  "me?" — For  an  instant  the 
girl  looked  up  in  his  face  to  see  if  perhaps  it  were 
another  secret  akin  to  her  own,  and  a  strange  throb 
of  pain  moved  her  heart  as  she  did  so.  The  next 
instant  it  was  gone ;  Stephen  wore  no  gala  face ;  no 
pleasant  mystery  was  hovering  on  his  lips;  he  was 
very  grave,  although  perfectly  calm.  She  saw  that  ; 
there  was  no  flutter  of  emotion  bringing  colour  to 
his  cheeks  or  light  to  his  eye.  But  for  that  sun 
light  flashing  in  his  face  she  would  have  seen  that 
he  was  pale/  He  did  not  shun  the  sunlight,  nor 
think  of  it. 

"  What  have  you  to  tell  me,  Stephen  ?  " 
i      "I  am  going  away." 

"  Going  away  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  For  how 
long?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  am  going  away.  I  mean  it 
so.  A  drive  to  Concord  is  not  going  away,  nor  a 
railway  journey  to  New  Haven." 


516  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Going  where  ?  "  said  Posie,  now  rising  to  her 
feet  in  mingled  surprise  and  fear. 

"Somewhere — "  said  Stephen  without  meeting 
her  eyes.  "  I  am  going  away.  I  have  been  mak 
ing  up  my  mind ;  and  I  wanted  to  tell  you  first  of 
all.  I  am  going  away  for  good,  Posie,"  he  added, 
looking  quietly  at  her  now. 

44  Leaving  the  business  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Leaving  Cowslip,  and  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh  Stephen !— Oh  why  ?  » 

"  Perhaps  the  best  reason  to  give  is  that  I  can 
not  help  it.  I  cannot  stay  any  longer." 

"  But,  oh  Stephen  !  Father  counts  upon  you ;  he 
depends  upon  you.  You  are  just  like  a  son  to  him. 
What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,  if  you  mean,  with  any 
body  but  myself.  I  have  come  to  that  point  when 
I  know  I  must  do  something  else." 

"  Different  business,  you  mean  ?  " 

He  assented. 

"  But  Stephen,  you  might  go  into  any  other  busi 
ness  you  like,  and  yet  not  leave  home.  Oh  Stephen, 
if  I  had  thought  you  would  go  away,  I  should  never 
have  wanted  to  go.  I  thought  you  would  always 
be  here  and  take  care  of  father  and  mother.  Ste 
phen,  you  could  follow  any  business  you  liked,  and 
stay  with  them  ?  " 

"  I  can't  get  ready  for  it  here." 

"  Get  ready  for  it  ?    You  mean,  for  the  business  ?  " 


HARD  TALKING.  517 

"Yes,  I  mean  that.  One  cannot  do  anything 
without  first  learning  how." 

"  What  business,  Stephen  ?  " 

"I  will  try  to  do  the  work  I  am  best  fitted  for; 
the  work  that  God  will  give  me  to  do  for  him.  I 
do  not  yet  quite  know  what  it  will  be,  but  I  shall 
find  out.  I  only  know  now  that  it  is  not  the  work 
I  am  doing  here ;  and  I  must  be  about  something 
else  without  loss  of  time." 

"  When,  Stephen  ?  "  Posie  cried  with  a  new  start  of 
anxiety  and  trouble.  But  he  answered  her  steadily. 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  go.  As  soon  as  I  can  put 
matters  in  such  train  that  I  shall  not  be  missed. 
That  will  take  a  few  days,  I  suppose." 

"A  few  days!     Will  you  go  before  spring?" 

"  I  must.  With  what  I  have  to  do,  there  is  no 
time  to  be  lost.  No  more  time." 

"  You  aren't  going  before  Christmas ! "  exclaimed 
Posie  with  an  expression  almost  of  terror. 

Christmas !  How  impossible  it  was  that  he  should 
be  there  at  Christmas  !  Kather  enlist  for  a  sailor, 
and  sail  away  before  the  mast.  He  told  her  it  was 
impossible ;  he  could  not  tell  her  why ;  and  natural 
ly  Posie  was  very  discontented. 

"You  said,  'what  you  have  to  do;' — what  have 
you  so  much  to  do,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  Posie,  I  have  to  get  ready  for  my  work  in  the 
world." 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be !  " 

"No;  but  whatever  it  be,  I  must  be  ready  for  it. 
I  am  fit  for  nothing  now." 


518  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  know  nothing." 

"  But  you  can  do  more  than  anybody  in  all  the 
world  that  /know.  You  can  do  more  than  father. 
I  believe  you  can  do  more  than  Erick  can.  Ste 
phen,  I  never  knew  you  miss  doing  anything  you 
set  yourself  to  do." 

"These  were  things  within  my  reach,"  he  said 
gravely. 

"And  now  you  want  things  that  are  not  within 
your  reach!  Stephen,  that  is  ambition;  it  is  not 
like  you." 

"  It  is  not  ambition,"  he  said  in  the  same  way. 
"  I  would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  stay 
here  all  my  life,  if  it  might  have  been.  But  my 
calling  is  different." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  impatiently. 

"It  is  very  plain  to  me,  Posie." 

"  Oh  there  is  no  moving  you !  "  cried  the  girl  in 
despair.  "  When  once  you  take  it  into  your  head 
that  a  thing  is  duty,  the  game  is  up.  It  may  not 
seem  duty  to  other  people ;  but  you  can  see  with 
no  eyes  but  your  own  !  " 

"  No,  I  cannot." 

"  It  would  seem  to  anybody  else,  that  your  duty 
was  to  stay  here  when  I  am  gone,  and  take  care 
of  father  and  mother." 

"  It  would  seem  so  to  myself,"  he  answered, 
"  only  that  I  see  plainly  my  duty  is  elsewhere." 

Posie  had  sat  down  on  her  basket  again,  and 
now  she  began  to  cry.  It  was  a  hard  minute  for 


HARD  TALKING.  519 

Stephen.  The  sun  was  just  dipping  below  the 
horizon,  gilding  every  thing  with  flashing  gold  for 
a  short  space;  then  he  sank,  the  gold  faded,  soft 
dusk  began  to  fall  upon  the  landscape,  and  stars 
were  twinkling  out  of  the  blue.  In  Stephen's 
mental  vision  he  had  only  the  dusk  without  the 
stars.  Dusk — but  not  black  night,  for  that  never 
comes  to  the  Lord's  children  unless  they  have 
wandered  out  of  sight  of  him. 

Posie  cried  bitterly.  Stephen  bore  it  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  began  to  try  to  soothe  her;  but 
really  he  had  not  much  to  say.  It  must  be  a  dis 
appointment  to  her,  his  decision ;  he  knew  that ;  he 
would  have  spared  her  at  any  cost  to  himself  if  it 
had  been  practicable.  But  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  in  the  chestnut  tree,  what  he  must  do  and 
was  meant  to  do;  and  the  reasons  were  unshakable. 
Only  he  could  not  tell  them  to  her;  at  least  not  in 
detail;  and  the  sum  without  the  items  was  what 
Posie  could  not  approve. 

But  Posie  was  naturally  light-hearted,  and  her 
cup  just  then  was  very  full  of  happiness;  it  was 
not  in  one  or  two  bitter  drops  to  take  the  taste  out 
of  all  that  sweet  for  long.  She  stopped  weeping 
and  dried  her  tears,  got  up  and  took  her  basket, 
and  silently  through  the  dusk  they  made  their 
way  home. 

"I  have  not  spoken  to  your  father  yet,  Posie," 
he  said  as  they  neared  the  house.  "Do  not  say 
anything  about  it  till  I  have  seen  him." 

"  He  won't  like  it  better  than  I  do,  Stephen." 


520  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

And  Mr.  Hardenbrook  did  not.  Stephen  had 
sought  him  out  immediately,  and  found  a  good 
opportunity  to  speak  to  him  alone.  The  conver 
sation  need  not  be  repeated,  as  it  went  over  the 
same  ground  Stephen  had  already  gone  over  with 
Posie;  and  Mr.  Hardenbrook's  incredulity,  aston 
ishment,  chagrin  and  displeasure  were  but  copies 
of  hers.  I  think,  however,  that  the  father  perhaps 
was  able  to  look  at  the  matter  in  some  lights  un 
known  to  the  daughter.  At  any  rate,  after  argu 
ment  and  entreaty  had  both  been  tried  in  vain, 
breaking  like  unsubstantial  waves  upon  the  rock  of 
Stephen's  steadfastness,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  gave  in. 

"  Nobody  has  offended  you,  Stephen  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Certainly  not,  sir!  Everybody  is  only  too  good 
to  me.  And  you, — " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  throwing 
off  a  drop  from  his  eyelashes, — "that  is  unchanged. 
What  I  have  been  I  am,  and  will  always  be.  I 
have  considered  you  as  my  son  for  this  long  time 
past,  and  so  I  consider  you  now;  and  as  my  son  I 
shall  take  care  that  you  go  where  you  are  going. 
Where  is  it  first,  Stephen  ?  college  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  young  man  answered  under  his 
breath. 

"Which?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir; — I  think,  Harvard." 

"  Harvard  !  Why  that,  rather  than  one  of  the 
smaller  colleges,  where  maybe  you  would  feel 
more  at  home  ?  " 

"No,  sir, — it  is  for  that  very  reason.     .One  of  the 


HARD  TALKING.  521 

things  I  don't  know,  is  the  world;  and  I  must 
learn  to  know  it,  if  I  am  ever  to  do  my  work  in  it. 
I  thought  I  would  go  to  the  largest  college  I  could 
find." 

"There's  more  religion,  they  say,  at  Yale." 

"That's  another  reason  for  Harvard." 

"Well,  you  seem  to  have  laid  all  your  plans! 
But  Stephen,  what  is  the  work  you  are  expecting 
to  do  in  the  world  ?  " 

4<  I  do  not  know  yet,  sir.  That  I  shall  find  as  I 
go  on." 

"Something  better  than  chairs  and  tables,  I 
suppose,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  in  a  manner  that 
bespoke  great  vexation.  "  You  are  fit  to  do  better 
work." 

"It  is  not  that,  sir,"  Stephen  replied  steadily. 
"  I  think  the  best  work  is  that  which  the  Lord 
gives  me.  I  could  have  wished  for  no  better  than 
to  be  as  I  have  been;  but  I  see  I  have  something 
else  to  do." 

"  In  all  my  experience,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
"  a  man  chooses  his  own  course  of  life.  I  do  not 
see  how  it  can  be  otherwise. —  When  do  you  think 
to  make  this  move  ?  " 

"  In  a  few  days — as  soon  as  I  can  put  things  in 
train.  There  is  the  order  from  Plymouth  that  I 
want  to  see  under  weigh ;  and  I  must  go  to  Con 
cord  once,  to  conclude  a  purchase  of  stuff,  that  I 
have  half  made ;  and  there  are  some  bills  I  do  not 
want  you  to  be  troubled  with.  I  will  arrange  all 
that,  and  then  go." 


522  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  But  this  is  an  awkward  sort  of  time  to  enter 
college,  isn't  it  ? — middle  of  term." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  have  some  work  to  do  before 
I  can  enter  anywhere;  but  I  am  too  ignorant  to 
know  just  what." 

"  Harvard," — said  Mr.  Hardenbrook  musing.  "  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  you  a  letter  to  a 
man  I  know  in  Boston;  he's  not  a  college  man, 
but  he'll  know  how  to  put  you  up  to  a  good  many 
things;  lodgings,  and  shops,  and  whom  to  apply 
to,  and  all  that ;  for  you  do  not  know  the  world,  as 
you  say,  at  least  not  the  world  of  Boston.  And 
I'll  take  care,  my  boy,  that  you  have  money  enough 
in  your  pocket;  there's  no  doing  anything  without 
money.  And  if  you  get  to  a  great  place  in  the 
world,  I'll  have  my  satisfaction  in  that,  anyhow, — 
if  I'm  alive  to  see  it." 

So  he  dismissed  Stephen  with  some  show  of 
cheerfulness.  But  it  was  a  worried  face  Mr.  Har 
denbrook  shewed  to  the  women  of  his  household, 
when  he  joined  them  at  supper.  Stephen  was  not 
there. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  that  boy  ? "  he  broke 
out  vexedly,  when  the  meal  had  gone  on  far 
enough  to  make  it  plain  Stephen  would  not  make 
one  at  the  table. 

"  Matter  ?  "  said  his  wife.  "  I  suppose  he  has 
business  of  some  sort.  He's  punctual,  I'll  say  that 
for  him." 

"  No,  no !     What  has  anybody  done  to  him  ?  " 

"Done  to   him?     Eeally,   Mr.   Hardenbrook,    I 


HARD  TALKING.  523 

should  think  you  knew  that  Stephen  has  every 
thing  his  own  way,  and  is  quite  master,  except 
where  I  am ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  He's  going  away." 

"  Going  away  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  in  earnest,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
making  a  desperate  and  very  awkward  attempt  to 
get  something  which  stood  at  the  other  side  of  the 
table.  His  daughter  could  have  served  him,  but 
he  was  just  in  one  of  those  uncomfortable  moods 
in  which  a  man  takes  the  hardest  way. 

"  Take  care,  Mr.  Hardenbrook !  the  lamp  will  be 
over !  why  do  you  do  such  things ! — What's  he 
going  for?  In  earnest!  Stephen  never  does  any 
thing  any  other  way." 

But  when  the  matter  was  explained  to  her,  and 
she  comprehended  it,  for  the  two  things  were  not 
synonymous,  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  eyebrow  went  up 
ominously. 

"  Leaving  us !  "  she  cried.  "  Well,  that's  what  the 
world  calls  gratitude  !  Leaving  us !  When  he  owes 
you  everything — his  very  own  self — " 

"No,"  said  her  husband, — "no;  no  man  owes 
himself  to  any  other  man.  If  it  were  so,  Stephen 
.would  stay ;  for  what  he  owes  he  pays,  always." 

"  To  leave  us !  And  just  when  Posie — 0,  it's  be 
yond  everything.  Leave  us !  Well,  I  thought  Ste 
phen  would  always  remember  how  you  brought 
him  here,  a  poor  little  ragged  beggar,  with  no  friend 
in  the  world — " 

"  Softly,  softly !     He  was  not  ragged,  my  dear. 


524  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

And  Stephen  does  not  forget.  It  makes  me  won 
der  the  more — " 

"  And  me  too,"  said  Posie,  who  had  sat  by  with 
a  sorrowful  face  and  hitherto  said  nothing.  "  He 
told  me  this  afternoon ;  and  I  said  all  I  could,  but 
it  was  no  use.  I  can't  make  out  what's  come  over 
Stephen." 

"  It's  always  the  way ! "  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
beginning  to  cry.  "  Do  anything  for  anybody,  and 
what  they  do  is  to  turn  about  and  slap  you.  And 
now  just  when  Mr.  Hardenbrook  and  I  want  him, 
and  Mr.  Hardenbrook  is  getting  old — " 

"Speak  for  yourself,  Maria;  Jam  all  right." 

"  You're  getting  old,  I  suppose,  aren't  you ! "  said 
the  lady  sharply,  stopping  her  tears  for  that  speech, 
and  then  going  on.  "  And  if  Stephen  hasn't  a 
tongue,  he  has  a  head ;  and  I  like  to  see  three  heads 
at  least  at  the  table.  Two  are  just  dreadful !  He's 
an  ungrateful,  stupid,  absurd  creature !  and  he's  just 
got  his  head  full  of  some  bubble  or  other,  and  is 
running  away  from  His  bread  and  butter  to  catch  a 
butterfly!" 

"Ah,  but  what  butterfly?"  said  her  husband. 
"  That  is  what  I  would  like  to  know." 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 
GETTING  KEADY. 

JONTO  was  unable  to  find  out  to  her  satisfaction 
where  Stephen  got  his  supper  that  night,  and 
was  not  sure  that  he  had  any  anywhere.  He  came 
in  too  early  to  have  shared  anybody's  supper  at  a 
distance,  although  too  late  to  be  the  better  for  the 
supper  at  home.  And  he  did  not  read  a  chapter 
to  her,  as  it  had  been  long  his  constant  wont  to  do. 
He  went  up  to  his  room,  came  back  almost  immedi 
ately,  and  went  out  of  the  house  again.  Jonto  did 
not  like  his  manner,  which  she  could  not  read ;  and 
she  had  not  failed  to  notice  that  the  family  in  the 
supper  room  had  seemed  very  "  dumpish"  when  she 
went  in  to  clear  the  table.  She  was  quite  keen 
enough  to  jump  at  the  conclusion  that  something 
was  wrong.  But  what  could  be  wrong?  The 
wheels  of  the  household  always  moved  smoothly, 
saving  that  one  little  wheel  which  was  represented 
by  Mrs.  Hardenbrook's  humour,  which  nobody 
minded.  The  grating  of  the  machinery  came  from 
some  other  part  now.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  looked 
gloomy,  Posie  was  sad  and  thoughtful,  Mrs.  Har- 


526  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

denbrook's  fretting  evidently  in  sympathy  with 
theirs  and  not  provoked  by  it.  And  Stephen? 
Short  and  grave  he  was  apt  enough  to  be.  Jonto 
could  not  make  out  that  he  was  more  than  short 
and  grave  to-night ;  yet  she  felt  what  she  could  not 
reason  out,  and  sat  down  in  some  uneasiness  to  wait 
for  his  coming  home  again.  With  her  sharp  eyes 
perhaps  she  would  be  able  to  discern  then  some 
thing  of  what  was  the  matter;  she  never  thought 
of  attacking  him  with  questions.  Simple  and  gen 
tle  as  Stephen's  manner  was,  and  his  nature  too, 
and  though  he  had  grown  up  from  a  little  boy  under 
her  eye,  Jonto  had  an  enormous  respect  for  him ; 
and  she  would  sooner  have  taken  a  liberty  with  any 
one  else  in  the  house. 

She  waited  long,  and  Stephen  did  not  come  in. 
She  became  very  sleepy  after  a  while,  and  dozed  off; 
starting  to  consciousness  now  and  then,  snuffing 
her  candle,  and  setting  herself  to  renew  her  watch. 
It  grew  late.  She  fell  fast  asleep  at  last,  and  waked 
to  find  her  candle  burnt  low,  guttering  fearfully,  and 
the  room  growing  chill.  Stephen  might  have  come 
in  while  she  was  nodding,  and  gone  through  to 
his  room ;  she  would  not  sit  up  any  longer.  She 
would  have  liked  to  go  and  peep  into  his  room  to 
see  if  he  were  really  in  it,  but  she  did  not  dare. 
So  she  sought  her  own  bed,  feeling  an  uneasy  cer 
tainty  all  the  while  nevertheless  that  Stephen  had 
not  come  in.  What  then  could  he  be  doing  out 
side  ?  It  was  starlight,  soft  and  quiet;  not  a  breath 
of  air  sending  down  the  elm  leaves  which  were 


GETTING  READY.  527 

ready  to  fall.     Stephen  would  come  to  no  harm  out 
of  doors;  but  what  could  he  be  doing  there? 

Stephen  was  fighting  such  a  fight  as  it  is  given 
to  only  a  few  to  know  in  all  their  lifetime.  In  the 
top  of  the  chestnut  trees  that  afternoon  he  had 
fought  another,  and  gained  it;  the  victory  over 
himself;  the  command  of  his  feelings  and  mastery 
of  his  reason ;  so  that  he  could  lay  his  plans  and 
make  his  decisions  and  quietly  communicate  them, 
and  entirely  hide  his  springs  of  action  from  the 
notice  or  sympathy  of  others.  That  had  been  done 
and  was  over.  What  remained  was  harder ;  it  was 
even  to  take  the  will  of  the  Lord  and  make  it  his 
own.  For  Stephen  lost  no  time  nor  strength  in 
wrestling  with  second  causes.  True,  he  might 
have  spoken  sooner  to  Posie ;  he  might  have  been 
beforehand  with  any  other  wooer  and  so  have  se 
cured  her  for  himself.  No  doubt ;  but  at  the  same 
time  if  she  only  loved  him  as  a  brother,  Stephen 
did  not  want  to  have  her  for  a  wife ;  he  would  not 
wish  to  catch  her  so  in  the  trap  of  an  affection 
which  she  simply  did  not  understand.  But  he  did 
not  even  think  of  all  this.  He  had  acted  as  it  be 
came  him  to  act,  when  he  had  waited ;  he  had  done 
well  to  wait;  and  now  that  waiting  had  turned  out 
to  his  own  confusion,  he  saw  in  it  a  Will  and  a 
Hand  above  all  human  agencies.  He  saw  that  ac 
cording  to  that  will,  his  place  was  not  to  be  at 
Cowslip,  nor  his  work  that  of  a  cabinet  maker. 
For  to  stay  there  now,  would  have  been,  not  diffi 
cult  or  inexpedient,  but  merely  impossible.  He 


528  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

saw  the  order  to  go  away,  as  plainly  as  he  saw 
the  denial  of  his  heart's  one  wish.  He  must  go, 
and  he  must  give  up ;  and  what  Stephen  had  now 
to  fight  for  was  the  power  to  do  it  willingly.  I  do 
not  speak  of  submission ;  he  had  submitted.  I  do 
not  mean  resignation,  though  he  was  not  resigned. 
Resignation  does  not  express  the  need  of  the  heart 
of  a  child  of  God  who  lives,  as  Stephen  lived,  in 
childlike  confidence  and  peace  with  his  heavenly 
Father.  That  tenderness  of  love  and  union  cannot 
subsist  where  the  wills  are  twain;  and  Stephen 
could  not  live  a  day  at  a  distance  and  deprived  of 
that  love  and  union.  But  the  fight  to  be  fought  to 
give  up  one's  will,  is  one  of  the  hardest.  To  see 
all  you  care  for  taken  from  you;  plans  for  life 
broken  to  pieces ;  to  feel  the  one  thing  your  heart 
cherishes  torn  from  your  hold;  and  while  yet  bleed 
ing  and  trembling  to  say  with  all  your  heart,  "  So 
be  it !  I  am  content;" — that  is  a  task  before  which 
human  nature  may  well  fear.  And  the  soft,  sweet 
October  starlight  looked  down  on  such  a  struggle 
that  night.  It  brought  Stephen  to  the  ground, 
literally.  On  the  short,  warm,  mossy  turf  under 
the  trees  he  lay  prone ;  for  hours ;  fighting  his  fight. 
Some  of  your  quiet,  strong  natures  can  make  terri 
ble  opposition  against  what  is  contrary  to  them. 
I  think  it  is  like  the  devil  that  possessed  the  boy 
told  of  in  the  New  Testament ;  that  "  rent  him  sore  " 
before  it  came  out  of  him.  Something  like  such  a 
struggle  as  that  is  often  necessary  before  the  work 
can  be  done.  And  note  well, — it  is  one  thing  to 


GETTING  READY.  529 

give  up  all  endeavour  to  change  what  is  seen  to  be 
the  Lord's  will ;  it  is  another  thing  to  give  up  the 
wish  to  change  it.  But  without  this  latter  attain 
ment  Stephen  could  not  go  on  with  another  day's 
work,  nor  go  to  his  bed  for  a  night's  rest;  no  rest 
was  possible.  There  is  a  significant  word  in  the 
Bible, — among  many  others, — "  Can  two  walk  to 
gether,  except  they  be  agreed?  "  Such  a  walk  as 
some  of  the  children  of  God  keep  with  their  Father, 
bears  no  shadow  of  disagreement;  the  joy  of  it  and 
the  fellowship  are  gone  with  the  first  assertion  of 
self-will.  This  was  Stephen's  case  now;  and  till 
this  state  of  things  could  be  changed  and  the  old 
one  restored,  he  would  neither  come  into  his  bed 
nor  into  the  house.  For  Stephen  could  live  with 
out  Posie,  but  not  without  his  Master ! 

Jonto  came  down  in  the  morning  at  the  usual 
time,  to  find  her  kitchen  fire  in  more  than  the  usual 
forwardness  and  the  kettle  boiling.  While  she 
stood  there  before  it,  Stephen  carne  in.  She  turned 
to  give  a  quick  look  at  him.  His  face  was  certainly 
pale,  but  placid  as  the  soft  eastern  sky,  where  the 
sun  had  not  yet  risen. 

"  Can  you  give  me  something  early,  Jonto  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  I  have  a  long  day's  ride  before  me,  and 
want  to  be  off." 

"  Dey  has  deir  breakfast  in  de  house  by  half  past 
seven — aint  dat  early  nuff  to  suit  ye  ?  " 

"No;  I  want  to  be  off  by  seven  o'clock." 

*'  Den  you  sail.  'Spect  I  mus'  ha'  been  takin'  a 
nap  when  you  came  in  last  night ;  I  didn'  hear  you." 


530  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  think  not.  You  were  not  here  when  I  came 
through." 

"Did  you  lock  de  do'?" 

"  I  found  it  unlocked." 

Jonto  asked  no  more;  something  in  Stephen's  face 
deterred  her;  and  indeed  it  was  curious,  the  deep 
respect  with  which  the  old  woman  always  regarded 
him,  for  anything  less  exacting  than  Stephen's 
manner  or  temper  cannot  even  be  thought  of. 
Something  of  the  same  however  was  true  in  the 
factory,  and  in  the  world  at  large;  nobody  ever 
took  liberties  with  Stephen.  Jonto  got  ready  his 
breakfast  now  with  a  swiftness  of  which  she  was 
well  capable  when  she  chose  it;  and  gave  him  some 
capital  coffee,  and  baked  cakes  for  him  as  atten 
tively  as  if  he  had  been  a  king.  She  noticed  that 
he  drank  his  coffee  somewhat  eagerly,  but  had  lit 
tle  appetite  to  bring  to  bear  upon  more  solid  food. 
And  he  did  not  talk.  Jonto  sighed  once  or  twice. 
When  breakfast  was  done  and  he  was  just  ready 
to  go,  Stephen  paused  a  minute,  looking  at  the  old 
woman  quietly. 

"Jonto,"  said  he,  "I  expect  to  be  back  to-night. 
But  in  a  few  days  I  shall  go  and  not  come  back. 
I  am  going  away." 

"  I  'spects  dat's  a  mistake,"  said  the  old  woman, 
meeting  this  announcement  with  incredulity  and 
dismay  at  once. 

"No,"  said  Stephen.  "  It  is  the  Lord's  will;  and 
you  know  he  makes  no  mistakes." 

"Mebbe  'taint  his  will,  chile!     How  you  know?" 


GETTING  READY.  531 

"  I  know  I  must  go.  It  will  be  all  good,  some 
how,  Jonto." 

And  nodding  to  her  kindly,  Stephen  left  the 
house.  Jonto  sat  down  suddenly,  as  if  unable  to 
stand. 

"  What's  dat  now  ?  "  said  she,  speaking  to  her 
self  in  a  low  monologue  and  staring  into  the  fire 
as  if  it  could  answer  her.  "  Dar  aint  nuffin'  stays 
still  in  dis  yer  world !  Aint  no  sense  in  dai,  any 
how.  What's  he  gwine  'way  fur?  Don't  b'lieve  in 
no  sich  motions.  Aint  he  to  home  here  ?  and  in 
de  hull  arth  he  hain't  no  od'er;  and  aint  a  man 
boun'  to  stay  whar  his  home  is  ?  An'  dar's  Posie 
• — An'  dar's  de  missus!  aint  she  gone  done  sum- 
fin  ridiculous  now?  An'  dar's  dat  ar  neffy — 
Wall,  wall !  de  Lord  reigns !  but  you's  kingdom 
is  a  confuse'  place,  0  Lord!  and  t'ings  don't  get 
whar  dey  b'longs,  somehow,  widout  it's  de  wrong 
t'ings.  'All  be  good,'  did  he  say?  Wall,  boy,  I 
wish  'twould  begin  wid  your  face,  den  !  " 

The  day  seemed  long  to  more  than  Jonto.  To 
wards  evening,  indeed  the  dusk  was  falling  already, 
so  that  the  glow  of  the  kitchen  fire  was  asserting 
itself,  Posie  came  in  and  sat  down.  Jonto  was  idly 
sitting  before  the  fire;  her  work  done  up;  only  she 
was  watching  some  apples  that  were  roasting  for 
supper. 

"Jonto,"  said  Posie,  "why  is  Stephen  going 
away  ?  " 

"  I  dun  know." 

Jonto's  speech  was  somewhat  short,  but  that,  as 


532  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

everybody  knew,  with  Jonto  meant  trouble;  not 
temper. 

"You  know  he  is  going?" 

"  I  knows  it.     Anyhow,  he  says  so." 

"  What  Stephen  says  he  will  do,  he  will  do." 

"Dat  ar  am  his  natur'." 

"  But  Jonto,  what  does  it  mean  ?  "  said  Posie  with 
a  very  troubled  expression  of  countenance. 

"  Laws,  honey,  I  'spect  de  debbil  has  been  at 
some  o'  his  work  somewheres.  'Taint  like  it's  de 
angels.  I  fought,  Stephen  Kay  'ud  live  here  for 
ever  ;  sure ;  and  I  war  jest  a  fool.  Tears  like  dis 
yer  war  de  place  fur  him ;  but  sumfin's  done  gone 
and  druv  him  away." 

"But  what  can  it  be?  I  thought  so  too,  that 
he  would  stay  here  always;  it's  his  home;  it's 
where  he  ought  to  be.  0  Jonto,  0  Jonto ! — I 
thought  he  would  be  here  to  take  care  of  father 
and  mother  after  I  am  gone ! — " 

The  old  woman  straightened  herself  up  suddenly. 

"  Whar's  you  gwine,  Miss  Posie  ?  " 

"  0  didn't  mother  tell  you  ?  " 

"Mis'  Har'nbrook  don't  nebber  tell  me  nuffin; 
only  about  de  fish  and  de  waffles,  and  sich  t'ings." 

Posie  hesitated. 

"  I  am  going  too,  Jonto,"  she  said  softly. 

"Whar,  den?" 

"  I  don't  know  just  where,  yet." 

"  What's  you  gwine  fur  ? "  Jonto  demanded 
severely. 

"0 — somebody  wants  me  to  go." 


GETTING  R'EADY.  533 

"  Who's  dat?" 

"That  is  my  cousin;  you  know;  my  cousin,  Mr. 
Dunstable." 

"  An'  dafs  what  he  come  here  fur,  hey  ?  " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  Jonto's 
dark  face  shewed  an  access  of  gloom  and  dis 
satisfaction. 

"  So  yous  gwine  away  too ! "  she  began  again. 
"An'  dar  aint  nobody  what  wants  you  to  stay, 
does  you  t'ink?" 

Posie  made  no  answer.  Perhaps  she  was  look 
ing  again  at  all  that  lay  in  the  opposite  scale  of 
the  balance  to  that  which  Erick  weighed  down 
so  heavily;  people  do  take  such  looks;  although 
they  result  in  nothing  but  fresh  conviction  of  the 
weight  in  the  descending  scale.  And  Jonto  after 
that  last  question  was  quite  silent,  and  sat  study 
ing  the  fire  as  if  she  had  found  something  in  it. 
She  seemed  to  have  no  more  curiosity  about  Posie. 

"  I  thought  to  be  sure  he  would  be  here,"  Posie 
then  began  again  mournfully.  "I  thought  Ste 
phen  would  always  be  here  to  take  care  of  father 
and  mother.  0  Jonto,  I  am  so  grieved  !  " — 

"'Spect  you  aint  de  only  one."  Jonto's  words 
.were  short. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?"  said  Posie  looking  up 
from  her  tears.  "  Is  he  troubled  ?  " 

"  'Spect  he  haint  forgot  how  he  come  here  fust; 
'taint  like  him,  anyhow." 

"  But  did  he  tell  you  anything  ?  " 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head.     "  Dar  is  some 


534  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

folks  t'inks  a  heap,  but  dey  don't  say  nuffin;  I 
guess  he's  one  o'  dat  kind." 

"  Didn't  tell  you  anything  !  I  thought  perhaps 
he  had.  But  there  must  be  some  reason,  Jonto  ?  " 

"  Dis  yer's  a  i'allin'-to-pieces  world,"  said  the  old 
woman  thoughtfully.  "  I'd  got  it  sort  o'  in  my 
head,  dat  dis  yer  family  'd  stick  togedder  like; 
'pears  like  everybody  wants  all  de  rest;  but  dar 
aint  gwine  to  be  no  family  left.  You's  a  gwine 
one  way,  arid  Mr.  Stephen  he's  a  gwine  anoder 
way ;  and  clar,  Miss  Posie !  I'd  like  to  go  right 
up  along  home  myself.  I  jes'  wish  Mr.  Stephen 
war  gwine  to  be  whar  you's  to  be — I  do !  " 

"Why?" 

"To  take  care  o'  you,  chile; — and  mebbe  a  little 
bit  to  take  care  o'  him.  I  can't  make  out  who's 
gwine  to  do  dat." 

"Stephen  will  always  be  taken  care  of,"  said 
Posie,  breaking  into  fresh  tears. 

"  'Spect  he  will.  But  laws,  Miss  Posie,  de  world 
is  a  mighty  big  place !  and  I  dunno  if  he'll  find  his 
way.  'Pears  I  feels  all  onsartain  about  him.  And 
dat's  onbelievin';  but  I  allus  was  weak  when  it 
come  to  believin'." 

"I  would  like  to  take  care  of  him,"  cried  Posie 
weeping;  "for  I  love  him  dearly." 

"  'Spect  you  doos — "  said  Jonto  drily. 

"And  papa  will  take  care  of  him,  Jonto." 

"  Laws,  chile,  I  don't  'spect  he'll  be  poor,  as  fur 
as  de  silber  and  de  gold  goes;  taint  dat  ar  what's 
a  worritin'  me.  De  silber  and  de  gold  is  de  Lord's, 


GETTING  READY.  535 

and  I  reckon  he'll  gib  Stephen  as  much  as  '11  be 
good  for  him.  What's  Stephen  gwine  to  do,  any 
how,  Miss  Posie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know !     He's  going  to  college  first." 

"College?  what's  dat?" 

"  A  place  where  young  men  go  to  get  a  great 
education ;  to  get  ready  to  be  lawyers  and  doctors 
and  clergymen  and  learned  men,  and  all  that." 

"Hm!"  said  Jonto,  with  a  mingled  expression 
of  surprise  and  intelligence.  "  It's  school,  like." 

"  Not  for  boys,  little  boys.  It's  a  school,  if  you 
please,  for  men ;  where  they  can  fit  themselves  for 
any  work  or  place  in  the  world." 

"Hm  !  "  was  Jonto's  repeated  commentary,  as  if 
she  had  got  some  new  light  which  partly  contented 
her.  But  she  said  no  more. 

For  the  next  day  and  for  several  following  days 
nobody  in  the  house  got  much  speech  of  Stephen. 
He  was  incessantly  busy,  much  of  the  time  away 
from  Cowslip,  driving  things  to  the  point  of  order 
and  readiness  at  which  he  could  safely  leave  them. 
He  did  not  take  breakfast  with  the  family;  he  was 
off  before  that  time;  and  he  returned  too  late  at 
night  to  join  them  at  the  tea-table.  Then  Jonto 
would  give  him  a  nice  supper  in  the  kitchen,  and 
Posie  would  come  in  to  see  him  eat  it,  and  to  put 
all  the  questions  she  dared.  She  could  not  see  but 
Stephen  was  very  much  like  himself,  at  those  times. 
His  eye  did  not  shun  hers;  his  answers  were  ready; 
his  smile  was  free,  and  as  sweet  as  it  was  wont  to 
be.  But  Jonto  once,  coming  in  as  Posie  left  tho 


536  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

room,  saw  that  Stephen's  head  had  dropped  in  his 
hands;  and  his  face  when  he  raised  it  was  graver 
than  she  liked;  and  once  or  twice  she  caught  a 
long-drawn  breath,  what  nobody  ever  formerly 
heard  from  Stephen  Kay. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

GETTING  AWAY. 

THE  days  passed  quick,  and  the  last  hard  hours 
drew  near.  Stephen  went  in  to  tea  with  the 
family ;  his  preparations  were  all  made,  and  he  was 
to  set  off  early  the  next  morning.  Until  that  even 
ing  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  had  hardly  seen  him  since 
his  plans  were  made  known;  she  gave  him  a  bitter 
sweet  reception.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  and  Posie  had 
no  words ;  but  she  kept  the  talk  going. 

"  I  think  it  is  very  hard  of  you,  Stephen,"  she 
said,  "  after  the  way  we  have  been  friends  to  you, 
that  you  should  go  away  now  and  leave  us  alone — 
just  when  you  could  be  of  use  to  us." 

"  It  is  hard, — "  Stephen  answered. 

"Mother,"  said  Posie  warmly,  "he  has  always 
been  of  use  to  us !  more  than  we  to  him." 

"No,"  said  Stephen;  "that  was  not  possible." 

"  Pretty  near  the  truth,  though,"  said  Mr.  Har 
denbrook.  "You  have  so  much  of  the  cat  nature 
about  you,  Stephen,  that  you  would  have  fallen  on 
your  feet  anywhere; — somewhere  else  if  not  here. 
Of  that  I  am  convinced." 

(537) 


538  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Something  else  of  the  cat  nature  too,"  the  lady 
went  on ;  "  for  when  pussy  has  got  enough  of  you, 
she  lets  you  feel  her  claws." 

"  0  mother !  "  cried  Posie  indignant, — "  what  do 
you  mean  ?  how  can  you  speak  so  ?  0  mother, 
mother ! — "  Her  face  was  aflame. 

Stephen  coloured  a  little,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Nothing  but  a  scratch,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook 
quietly.  "  We  all  of  us  are  more  or  less  cats;  and 
when  pussy  don't  feel  comfortable  she  puts  out  her 
paw,  arid  does  not  know  herself  how  it  hurts." 

This  brought  the  blood  to  the  lady's  face,  and 
for  a  minute  or  two  she  was  silent;  no  longer. 

"  And  what  is  it  that  is  taking  you  away  from 
us,  Stephen  ?  "  she  went  on  with  her  eyebrow  very 
much  lifted.  "  Is  it  permitted  to  inquire  ?  I  have 
not  been  able  to  get  any  light  on  the  subject." 

" There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Stephen.  "I 
am  going  out  to  find  my  work  in  the  world ; — and 
to  do  it;  if  I  can." 

"Pray  why  can't  you  do  it  here, — where  you 
belong?  Have  you  asked  yourself  that  question  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  needful  to  ask  it.  I  have  not  the 
necessary  preparation." 

"For  what?" 

"  For  my  work." 

"  What  is  your  work  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  yet.     I  do  not  know." 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  find  out  ?  " 

"  I  shall  stumble  upon  it  somehow,"  said  Stephen, 
smiling  a  little,  though  it  was  a  very  sober  smile. 


GETTING  AWAY.  539 

"  Now  I'll  tell  you  what,  Stephen  Kay,"  said  the 
lady  judicially  and  eyeing  him  hard;  "the  thing 
is,  you  are  ambitious." 

"  Of  what,  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  college,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  that's  it.  You  want  to  study  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  make  yourself  a  name  in  the  world." 

"  I  hope  not." 

"  What  harm  if  he  did  ?  "  broke  out  Mr.  Harden 
brook.  "For  my  part,  /should  like  him  to  make 
a  name  in  the  world;  and  what's  more,  I  expect  he 
will.  I  expect  nothing  else.  He'll  maybe  be  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States  yet.  It  wouldn't  surprise 
me.1' 

"  Wouldn't  that  be  jolly !  "  said  Posie,  who  had 
caught  a  little  slang  from  her  lover.  "Then  we 
should  all  go  to  Washington,  to  pay  our  respects 
and  make  our  court  to  Stephen." 

Stephen  raised  his  eyes  and  gave  a  look  over  his 
cup  at  the  girl,  which  she  was  very  far  from  un 
derstanding.  She  had  not  the  key.  But  it  was  a 
pathetic  look,  grave,  sorrowful,  wondering,  submis 
sive.  Posie  took  it  as  rather  reproachful,  though 
there  was  no  conscious  reproach  in  it. 

"  I  do  believe,"  she  went  on  half-laughing,  "  Ste 
phen  would  say  he  did  not  care !  " 

"  Why  should  I  care  ?  " 

"Why  does  anybody  care  to  be  distinguished 
and  honoured,  and  to  stand  in  high  places?" 

"I  suppose,"  said   Stephen  slowly  and  meeting 


540  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

her  eyes  fully  again,  "it  is  because  they  do  not 
know  anything  better." 

"You  do,  I  suppose?"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 
ironically. 

"  It's  natural,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook.  "It's  quite 
right.  It's  right  for  everybody  to  like  to  stand 
high,  when  he  likes  to  deserve  it  too.  Stephen 
has  the  making  of  something  better  in  him  than 
what  he's  been,  up  to  now;  he's  quite  justified  to 
go  out  into  the  world  for  it,  seeing  he  cannot  pos 
sibly  get  it  here.  I'm  a  loser  for  it,  but  I'm  glad 
for  his  gain." 

"  Father ! "  cried  Posie  with  her  eyes  all  full  of 
tears,  "  do  you  think  Stephen  is  quitting  us  all  for 
no  better  reason  but  to  make  a  great  man  of  him 
self?  Don't  you  know  him  better?" 

"  For  what  reason  then  is  he  going  ?  "  demanded 
her  mother  sharply. 

"Because  he  thinks  he  ought,  mother.  To  Ste 
phen  it  is  duty." 

"  What  is  duty?  What  have  we  done,  that  he 
should  forsake  us  all  in  this  cavalier  way  ?  that  it 
should  be  his  duty  to  forsake  us?  Posie,  you  do 
talk  the  most  stupid  nonsense ! — " 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  observed  Stephen  quietly,  whose 
supper,  such  as  it  was,  had  come  to  an  untimely  end. 
To  eat  was  impossible.  "  I  may  not  know  myself, 
but  I  think  I  have  no  visions  of  greatness  before 
me;  and  if  I  had,  I  am  very  sure  they  would  'have 
no  power  to  draw  me  away  from  home.  I  think 
God  has  different  work  for  me  to  do,  from  any  I 


GETTING  AWAY.  541 

have  done  or  could  do  here.  I  am  following  his 
leading,  and  am  going  to  follow  it;  but  not  because 
I  think  there  is  anything  great  for  me  to  be  or  do, 
— as  the  world  counts  greatness." 

"  How  do  you  count  it  ?  "  asked  the  lady  acidly. 

"  I  count  it  great,  to  be  the  smallest  in  the  king 
dom  of  heaven,"  said  the  young  man  rising.  "1 
must  be  off  very  early  in  the  morning,  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook — I  shall  not  see  you  again — " 

"0  but  you  will  see  me,"  cried  Posie;  "I  shall 
be  down  to  pour  out  your  coffee.  Yes,  I  shall; 
you  need  not  say  a  word.  Of  course  I  shall !  do 
you  think  I  could  lie  still  and  sleep — "  But  her 
voice  suddenly  choked. 

Mrs.  Hardenbrook  shook  hands,  but  remarked  at 
the  same  time  that  she  would  probably  see  him  in 
the  morning  too.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  declared  he 
was  going  to  drive  to  Deepford  with  him.  So  the 
good  byes  could  not  be  said,  and  Stephen  was 
obliged  to  pass  yet  another  night  with  the  con 
sciousness  that  they  were  before  him.  He  would 
have  given  a  good  deal  to  turn  Posie  from  her 
purpose;  knowing  however  that  it  would  be  in 
vain  to  try.  It  must  be  borne.  He  went  out  to 
Jonto,  and  once  more,  though  that  was  hard  too, 
read  a  chapter  for  her  and  prayed  with  her.  The 
only  family  prayers  in  the  house  were  those  held  in 
the  kitchen  and  by  those  two.  Usually  the  min 
utes  were  much  enjoyed,  both  by  Stephen  and 
Jonto;  to-night  it  was  a  comfort,  and  yet  very 
hard;  for  Jonto  could  not  keep  back  a  sob  now 


542  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

and  then,  and  Stephen  had  to  put  a  force  upon 
himself  to  keep  his  voice  clear  and  calm.  Yet  he 
was  very  calm;  his  fight  was  fought  out;  it  had 
been  finished  that  night  when  he  lay  till  morn 
ing  on  the  turf  under  the  trees.  He  was  still  and 
content,  though  the  power  and  the  fact  of  feeling 
pain  remained;  but  it  was  only  pain;  neither  re 
gret  nor  struggle  mingled  with  it. 

"  0  lad,  whatever  are  ye  gwine  away  fur !  "  Jonto 
exclaimed,  when  they  had  risen  from  their  knees 
and  Stephen  was  lighting  his  lamp  to  go  to  bed. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  know,  one  day, — "  he  an 
swered,  after  he  had  got  the  lamp  burning  right. 

"  You's  clar  o'  your  way  now,  is  you  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Quite  clear." 

And  so  they  parted.  Stephen  went  up  stairs, 
and  the  old  woman  sat  down  again  before  her 
fire. 

"  Dis  yer  world  is  oncommon ! "  she  spoke  to 
herself.  . "  What  fur,  now  ?  He  t'inks  he  knows. 
— Mebbe.  But  looks  as  if  warn't  no  sense  in  it, 
no  way.  Tears  like  de  folks  is  all  crazy  like; 
and  all  on  'em  mournin'  for  what's  deir  own  fau't. 
It's  along  o'  dat  ar  Englisher! — Well,  Jonto,  de 
likes  o'  you  can't  set  dis  yer  ole  world  straight- 
Why  does  t'ings  go  so  one-sided,  I  wonder  ?  But 
de  good  Lord,  he'll  bring  it  out  all  straight  'nuff 
by  'm  by." 

She  drew  one  or  two  -heavy  sighs,  nevertheless, 
as  she  set  about  covering  up  her  fire. 


GETTING  AWAY.  543 

As  for  Stephen,  he  would  have  been  very  thank 
ful  to  let  Jonto  give  him  his  cup  of  coffee,  and  then 
steal  away  early  the  next  morning  without  seeing 
anybody  beside.  It  was  very  hard,  what  he  had 
to  go  through;  would  have  been  well  nigh  un 
bearable,  but  for  that  poise  to  which  his  spirit  had 
come.  It  was  the  quiet  and  security  of  a  ship 
at  anchor  in  the  harbour;  passing  winds  might 
shake  her  sails  and  mourn  in  the  cordage ;  but  she 
would  ride  free  and  safe.  So  he  was  not  troubled 
with  anxieties,  or  made  unsteady  by  passion;  as 
quietly  as  usual,  and  with  as  cool  nerves,  he  dressed 
and  went  through  the  house  to  the  sitting  room. 

The  world  was  still  dark  outside.  Within,  the 
room  had  that  peculiar  brightness  which  is  wont 
to  shine  upon  the  traveller's  vision  who  is  about 
to  make  an  "early  start."  The  fire  was  spark 
ling  and  blazing  and  throwing  its  ruddy  glow 
everywhere.  That  glow  was  met  by  the  yellow 
brilliance  streaming  from  the  lamp  on  the  table; 
and  the  table  itself,  with  its  white  naperies  and 
shining  glass,  and  silver,  seemed  to  concentrate 
and  give  back  all  the  light  of  both.  By  the  table 
stood  Posie,  pouring  hot  water  in  and  out  of  the 
cups;  and  Stephen  was  rather  glad  to  see  that 
Posie's  mother  was  sitting  on  the  sofa.  He  hardly 
desired  a  tete-a-tete  alone  with  his  quondam  sister 
that  morning.  But  indeed  was  she  not  his  sister 
still  ?  He  had  kept  that  relationship  at  least,  if  he 
had  lost  all  other.  He  stood  also  by  the  table, 
thinking  that,  after  a  short  greeting.  For  Posie's 


544  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

eyes  were  downcast,  and  tears  dropped  every  now 
and  then  from  her  eyelashes,  and  her  face  was  pale 
with  sorrow.  She  made  herself  nervously  busy 
with  the  cups  and  the  sugar  tongs;  she  was  evi 
dently  afraid  to  test  the  stability  of  her  composure 
by  either  words  or  looks.  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  on 
the  sofa  was  suffering  under  a  severe  fit  of  impa 
tience,  as  might  be  seen  by  her  lifted  eyebrow  and 
the  uneasy  beating  of  her  foot  upon  the  footstool 
which  supported  it.  But  Stephen  did  not  see  it. 
How  sweet  Posie  was  this  morning,  with  her  ten 
der,  troubled  face ! 

"Stephen,  I  told  Jonto  to  have  something  you 
like,"  said  Posie,  as  the  old  woman  came  in  bring 
ing  the  breakfast.  "  She  has  done  some  kidneys 
for  you.  Those  look  beautiful,  Jonto  !  " 

As  if  he  cared  what  they  gave  him  that  morn 
ing  !  Yet  the  mealtimes  of  a  family  are  like  a 
thread  upon  which  all  the  events  and  experiences 
of  the  family  life  are  strung;  and  as  Stephen's  eye 
fell  upon  the  dish  Jonto's  hand  was  putting  down, 
it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  years  past,  the  mornings 
and  evenings,  the  cosy  gatherings  round  the  table 
in  summer  and  winter,  the  shelter  and  warm  com 
fort  and  affectionate  care  of  the  home  that  had 
been  given  him  there,  all  swept  up  before  him  at 
once,  signified  and  symbolized  by  the  familiar  dish. 
It  was  the  last  time  they  were  to  eat  it  together; 
the  long  succession  of  such  mealtimes  was  sud 
denly  broken;  the  home  was  not  his  home  'any 
longer;  the  affection  and  the  care,  they  were  not 


GETTING  AWAY.  545 

indeed  lost,  yet  they  would  practically  be  his  no 
more.  He  stood  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"Come,  jsit  down,  Stephen,  and  take  things 
while  they  are  good.  Mother,  will  you  come  to  the 
table?" 

"I  cannot  possibly  eat  at  this  horrible  hour, 
child.  I  don't  see  how  you  can." 

"  Then  you  ought  not  to  have  got  up." 

"  Of  course,  if  you  got  up,  I  should.  When  the 
whole  house  is  astir,  one  can't  lie  abed.  There  is 
no  use  in  being  abed  if  you  are  not  permitted  to 
sleep.  Your  father  has  been  threshing  about  for 
an  hour  past." 

"Take  a  cup  of  tea,"  suggested  Stephen.  "Shall 
I  bring  you  one  ?  " 

"  You'd  better  attend  to  your  own  breakfast  and 
be  off,  if  you  mean  to  get  to  Deepford  in  time." 

Stephen  followed  this  counsel,  so  well  as  a  man 
could  to  whom  breakfast  was  a  tedious  formality. 
Yet  he  needed  food  and  must  take  it;  and  Posie 
hung  about  him  and  watched  him  and  attended 
to  his  wants  with  a  tender  care  that  he  would  wil 
lingly  have  escaped  from.  It  was  very  hard  to 
bear,  precisely  in  proportion  as  it  was  so  name- 
lessly  sweet  to  feel.  This  once,  and  never  again  ! 
The  precious  sisterly  affection  he  had  and  would 
preserve  at  any  price ;  the  sisterly  intercourse  no 
more.  Not  this  eye  to  eye  and  hand  to  hand  in 
tercourse.  Hearts  might  speak  to  one  another; 
would  speak,  while  life  was  in  them;  the  actual 
presence  must  be  forborne.  So  this  was  the  end 


546  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

of  a  long  series  of  days,  mornings  and  evenings 
and  mealtimes  and  holiday  hours,  made  fragrantly 
sweet  by  the  love  which  now  must  keep  its  perfume 
under  lock  and  key,  like  a  dried  flower,  if  at  all. 
Stephen's  mind  went  back  over  the  years  at  a 
furious  pace,  bringing  up  images  of  delight;  from 
the  time  when  the  seven-year-old  Posie  stood  be 
side  the  little  hungry  waif  in  Jonto's  kitchen  and 
bewildered  him  with  a  sudden  charm.  The  charm 
had  held,  all  these  years,  and  was  fast  bound  round 
his  heart  now.  And  he  was  going  away !  It  was 
well  for  Stephen  that  he  had  no  mental  fight  to 
go  through;  no  movement  of  passion  to  hide;  only 
his  pain  to  bear.  He  swallowed  that  and  his  coffee 
together.  And  at  last  the  meal  was  over.  Mr. 
Hardenbrook  had  taken  a  hasty  breakfast  and  al 
ready  gone  out.  Stephen  rose. 

"Come  out  here,  Stephen,"  said  Posie  hurriedly; 
— "  I  want  to  say  something  to  you." 

"  Out  where  ?  "  asked  her  mother.  "  It's  too  cold ; 
what  are  you  thinking  of?  You  mustn't  go  out 
on  the  piazza,  Posie.  Say  what  you  have  got  to 
say  here.  I  am  no  hindrance." 

Posie  hesitated.  Stephen  stood,  waiting  her 
commands. 

"And  make  haste,"  admonished  her  mother. 
"  Do  you  want  to  make  him  lose  his  train  ?  If  we 
cannot  keep  him,  do  let  him  go  !  " 

Posie  hesitated  still.  "  I  wanted  to  see  you  alone," 
she  said.  But  then  she  stepped  up  to  him  and 
stood  close  before  him,  hooking  her  finger  confi- 


GETTING  AWAY.  547 

dentially  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  coat.  She  flushed 
a  little,  and  at  the  same  time  evidently  had  to 
struggle  with  a  strong  temptation  to  tears. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something — "  she  began, 
— "two  things,  Stephen." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  Will  you  do  them  for  me  ?  "  she  said,  suddenly 
lifting  two  very  loving  blue  eyes  to  him  that  were 
swimming  full. 

"  You  need  not  ask.  You  know  I  will  do  them 
if  I  can." 

"Then  you  promise  to  grant  me  two  petitions?" 

"If  it  only  depends  on  my  will." 

"  Stephen,"  Posie  went  on,  working  her  finger 
about  in  his  buttonhole, — "after  I  am  gone,  will 
you  come  here  sometimes, — it  may  not  be  very 
convenient  always, — but  will  you  come  home  from 
time  to  time  and  see  how  father  and  mother  are, 
and  how  things  are  going  ?  " 

He  answered  a  short,  almost  suppressed,  "  Yes." 

"  See  if  the  people  are  doing  their  duty;  see  if 
the  business  is  going  on  right;  I  know  you  have 
been  the  soul  of  it  for  a  great  while  past.  And 
see  if  everything  is  well,  father  and  mother  and  all; 
and  if  anything  or  anybody  is  not  well,  will  you 
tell  me  ?  They  will  not  tell  me,  you  know.  Will 
you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  If  I  think  you  can  help." 

"  If  I  can't  f  "— 

"What  would  be  the  use  of  that?  Leave  me  to 
my  discretion  in  that  matter." 


548  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Well,  you  will  not  leave  me  ignorant  of  any 
thing  I  ought  to  know?" 

"  I  promise  that." 

Posie  hesitated;  her  colour  rose  a  little;  she 
studied  Stephen's  coat,  apparently. 

"The  second  thing? — "  he  reminded  her. 

Then  the  girl  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  him 
full  in  the  face,  he  thought,  somewhat  inquisitively. 

"Stephen,  will  you  corne  to  my  wedding?" 

It  was  a  little  like  a  thunderbolt  falling  at  his 
feet.  Come  to  her  wedding!  Of  all  earthly  things 
the  one  he  would  rather  not  do.  But  she  was 
watching  him,  studying  him,  he  thought;  if  he 
even  hesitated  to  give  the  promise,  what  conclu 
sions  might  her  quick-witted  love  draw.  Once  let 
her  divine  the  truth,  and  there  would  be  an  end 
forever  of  all  the  sweet  sisterly  confidence  and 
familiar  intercourse  which  was  the  most  precious 
thing  Stephen  had  left  to  him  in  this  world.  He 
could  not  lose  that;  he  must  not  endanger  that,  let  the 
cost  of  maintaining  it  be  never  so  great.  He  dared 
not  count  the  cost  at  this  minute;  at  all  hazards 
he  must  not  disturb  Posie's  confidence.  He  gave 
the  promise  asked  for,  adding,  "If  you  are  only 
half  as  happy  as  I  wish  you  to  be,  Posie,  you  will 
be  happy  enough."  He  spoke  very  low,  but  quite 
distinctly;  and  Posie  was  satisfied  and  turned  away. 

How  he  got  off  then  he  hardly  knew.  It  was  a 
chilly  handclasp  from  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  accom 
panied  by  equally  chilly  good  wishes,  scarcely 
heard.  Posie  put  her  little  hand  in  his,  stood 


GETTING  AWAY.  549 

still,  and  then  suddenly  lifted  her  face  for  a  kiss. 
Stephen  touched  her  dainty  cheek  with  his  lips, 
and  fled. 

In  the  kitchen  there  was  a  long,  wringing  clasp 
of  hands  with  Jonto. 

"  Good  bye,  lad !  "  she  said,  as  she  let  him  go. 
"Ye  hab  de  Lord's  love  anyhow,  and  dat  ar  am  de 
best  of  all !  " 

The  old  woman  was  the  only  one,  he  thought, 
who  had  understood  him. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 
FOUB  WALLS. 

STEPHEN'S  course  at  college  was  like  what  his 
course  had  been  elsewhere;  making  no  show, 
and  making  no  noise,  but  doing  thorough  work. 
With  his  quiet  business  habits,  he  had  no  difficulty 
in  finding  his  way  and  getting  established,  before 
many  days  had  passed  from  his  leaving  Cowslip. 
Mr.  Hardenbrook  had  given  him  a  letter  to  a  gen 
tleman  in  Boston,  with  whom  he  had  some  busi 
ness  acquaintance;  and  Stephen's  good  face  and 
modest  manner  had  presently  won  him  this  gen 
tleman's  favour  and  excited  his  interest.  He  gave 
Stephen  all  the  information  he  needed;  told  him 
where  to  go  and  to  whom  to  apply  at  Cambridge; 
and  even  gave  him  some  helpful  counsel  as  to 
ways  and  means  of  lodging  and  living,  and  put 
him  in  the  way  of  finding  the  sort  of  place  he 
wanted.  For  Stephen,  he  found,  had  already 
thought  over  the  matter  and  made  up  his  mind 
what  he  would  do. 

So  after  a  very  little  time  had  passed,  Stephen 
was  quietly  settled  in  his  new  home  arid  surround- 


FOUR  WALLS.  551 

ings;  entered,  and  hard  at  work.  He  had  rented  a 
small  room  in  a  plain  little  house,  not  far  from  the 
College,  though  situated  somewhat  at  one  side  of 
the  better  parts  of  the  town.  The  street  was  de 
cent  and  quiet,  however,  and-  he  was  not  the  only 
one  by  several  of  the  students  who  lived  in  it. 
Stephen's  one  little  room  he  had  fitted  up  with  ex 
treme  simplicity;  a  rag  carpet  on  the  floor,  a  small 
stove,  a  chair  or  two,  a  cot,  and  some  shelves  for 
books.  A  cupboard  in  the  wall  held  all  his  modest 
outfit  in  china  and  hardware,  and  served  for  larder 
and  pantry  too,  and  kitchen  dresser.  For  though 
nothing  was  ever  wider  of  the  mark  than  Gold 
smith's  famous  saying,  that  "  Man  wants  but  little 
here  below," — still,  when  he  is  so  minded,  he  can 
undoubtedly  get  along  with  much  less  than  the 
usual  arrangement.  "China,"  I  said,  by  courtesy; 
Stephen's  pantry  contained  no  such  unnecessary 
article.  One  or  two  brown  earthenware  cups  and 
saucers  were  there,  and  a  teapot  to  match.  The 
little  room  did  look  very  bare,  to  tell  the  truth ;  the 
only  redeeming  things  about  it  being,  that  it  was 
kept  as  neat  as  wax,  and  that  the  books  spoke,  as 
they  always  do  speak,  of  a  mental  life  which  is  not 
poor  nor  mean.  They  did  surely  hold  this  language 
in  Stephen's  room,  for  some  of  them  were  always 
about,  in  a  way  that  shewed  they  were  used  and 
busy.  For  the  inanimate  things  of  our  surround 
ings  do  have  a  very  subtle  power  and  habit  of  tell 
ing  tales  about  their  possessors ;  and  although  the 
way  is  indescribable,  it  is  undeniable,  and  inimita- 


552  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

ble.  Anybody  with  an  eye,  going  into  that  little 
apartment,  could  have  presently  arrived  at  sev 
eral  very  satisfactory  conclusions  about  its  inmate. 
Somebody  lives  here  who  loves  order;  somebody 
who  is  very  sparing  of  money,  and  yet  has  money 
to  spare;  for  a  very  good  and  capacious  desk  on 
the  table  did  not  look  like  poverty.  Somebody 
who  is  independent  enough  not  to  follow  the 
world's  fashions;  witness  the  rag  carpet,  and  that 
little  stove.  Finally,  somebody  who  means  business 
with  his  college  work;  as  all  Stephen's  books  tes 
tified,  by  the  positions  in  which  they  lay  open,  dic 
tionaries  and  classics  and  what  not;  never  one 
slung  to  one  side,  or  carelessly  left  gaping,  or  with 
its  constitution  disordered  by  idle  handling.  From 
all  which  items  of  observation  the  summing  con 
clusion  would  be  reached,  that  the  inhabitant  of 
the  room  was  a  person  of  character. 

But  nobody  came  to  see  the  place  or  its  owner, 
to  form  conclusions  of  any  sort.  Nobody  knew 
Mr.  Kay,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  improve  their 
knowledge.  It  cannot  be  said  that  Stephen  suf 
fered  either  for  want  of  company.  In  the  first 
place,  he  was  studying  as  hard  as  he  could  with 
safety  to  mind  and  body.  In  the  second  place,  he 
was  walking,  figuratively,  in  a  wilderness;  a  men 
tal  desert,  as  to  human  things;  and  the  strangers 
one  meets  in  such  a  piece  of  one's  life  journey  only 
make  one  the  more  feel  how  wild  the  wilderness  is. 
And  it  may  be  added,  that  both  then  and  at  all 
times,  Stephen  was  walking  in  a  society  and  com- 


FOUR  WALLS.  553 

munion  above  the  earthly,  not  only  satisfying,  but 
which  at  times  transformed  the  desert  into  some 
thing  better  than  the  garden  of  Eden  would  be 
with  any  other  communion. 

So  in  a  strange  world  of  his  own  Stephen  lived, 
for  a  good  while;  strange,  because  so  exceedingly 
far  removed  from  the  mental  and  social  experiences 
of  his  companions.  His  earthly  hopes  all  annihi 
lated,  as  far  as  personal  interests  were  concerned; 
yet  content.  Ambition,  what  is  called  by  that 
name,  not  astir;  and  yet  working  with  an  energy 
that  was  of  the  sort  to  conquer  the  world.  Alone, 
yet  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  such  blessed  and 
sunny  intercourse  as  probably  mocked  the  best  that 
others  around  him  knew.  It  follows  almost  of  ne 
cessity  from  what  has  been  said,  that  Stephen  was 
to  a  certain  extent  a  marked  man.  The  lives  peo 
ple  lead  are  always  more  or  less  mirrored  in  their 
faces  and  demeanour;  and  many  a  one  noticed  with 
interest  and  curiosity  the  new  man  who  kept  him 
self  so  to  himself  and  made  so  little  effort  to  gain  a 
footing  in  the  society  that  was  about  him.  The  fine 
intelligent  face;  the  steadfast,  very  grave  eyes, 
which  had  such  a  clear  and  keen  obseryance  in 
them ;  especially  the  singular  apartness  of  his  whole 
look  and  manner;  struck  many  observers.  It  was 
not  pride,  for  no  face  had  less  of  self-consciousness 
than  this  face.  It  was  not  shyness,  nor  reserve; 
the  courteous  and  self-possessed  manner  was  en 
tirely  free  from  either  quality.  And  yet,  Stephen 
walked  among  men  as  if  he  belonged  to  a  different 


554  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

planet,  and  really  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  in 
habitants  of  this  one.  But  at  the  same  time,  what 
capital  recitations  he  gave ;  what  a  thorough  grasp 
he  got  of  anything  he  took  in  hand ;  how  inevitably 
the  eyes  of  professors  and  lecturers  got  a  habit  of 
turning  to  Kay's  face  as  toward  a  point  of  light  and 
a  point  of  rest;  where  they  were  sure  of  meeting 
intelligent  comprehension  and  response,  along  with 
intentness  of  purpose.  There  was  something  too 
in  those  grave  eyes  and  in  the  calm  lines  of  the  face 
which  attracted  not  only  interest  but  also  won  in 
clination.  The  repose  and  evident  self-mastery 
were  so  mingled  with  sweetness. 

"Who  is  that  fellow?  "  one  asked  another. 

"A  new  chap." 

"I  know;  but  where  does  he  come  from?" 

"  From  the  stars,  I  should  say." 

"Why?" 

"  Don't  seem  to  take  much  stock  in  this  world." 

"  Means  work,  though.  He's  got  a  capital  head 
of  his  own." 

"  There's  Bell  just  ahead — he  rooms  at  the  same 
place.  Hollo,  Bell !  "— 

"  What's  the  row  ?  "  said  a  young  man  a  few  steps 
in  front  of  them,  stopping  and  turning. 

"Anderson  wants  to  know  about  your  chum." 

"So  do  I.     Who  is  he?" 

"  Don't  you  live  next  door  to  that  new-comer  ?  " 
Anderson  asked. 

"  Who  ?  Kay,  do  you  mean  ?     Yes." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know  of  him  ?  " 


FOUR  WALLS.  555 

"Nothing  whatever." 

"  Don't  you  see  him  sometimes  ?  " 

"  I  see  him  as  you  do,  coming  and  going,  and  in 
the  class." 

"  Haven't  you  tried  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  tried;  and  it  came  to  nothing  sig 
nally.  Went  in  there  one  day  and  asked  for  a 
light.  The  fellow  gave  it  to  me  civilly  enough. 
Then  I  offered  him  one  of  ray  cigars,  and  he  refused 
it.  'Perhaps  you  don't  know,'  said  I,  'that  these 
are  something  extra?'  And  then  he  grinned  a 
little  and  said  it  made  no  difference  to  him,  though 
of  course  it  was  the  more  generous  of  me.  Then 
I  asked  him  if  he  didn't  smoke  ?  And  he  said  no, 
but  the  way  he  said  it  I  can't  describe  to  you !  " 

"  Cut  up  short  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  that ;  quiet  as  a  setting  hen ;  but 
rather  as  if  he  lived  a  thousand  miles  away  from 
cigars  and  had  no  wish  to  lessen  the  distance.  So 
I  came  away." 

"  What  does  his  place  look  like  ?  " 

"  Hm  ! — well,  work." 

"  Work,  and  no  pleasure  ?  " 

"  Well  yes,  about  that.  Pretty  bare,  except  for 
books.  There  was  a  little  cooking  stove,  so  I  sup 
pose  he  lives  by  himself  altogether." 

"  He's  from  the  country,  I  guess,"  was  the  con 
cluding  remark. 

And  the  whirl  of  the  busy  college  life  went  on 
for  a  while,  without  any  one  getting  nearer  into 
Stephen's  confidence  than  the  above-named  abor- 


556  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

tive  attempt  resulted  in.  He  sought  admission  to 
no  Society ;  he  joined  in  no  games ;  he  went  his  way 
like  one  who  was  of  a  different  nationality  from  his 
companions  and  did  not  understand  their  language. 
And  if  he  had  been  like  many  of  them  in  other 
respects,  no  doubt  he  would  have  been  let  alone  and 
left  to  take  his  own  way  without  intermeddling. 
But  with  Stephen  it  could  hardly  be.  His  ability 
was  too  evident,  and  commanded  respect;  his  looks 
and  manner,  gentle  and  steadfast,  gave  an  impres 
sion  of  independent  strength,  to  which  people  are 
always  sure  to  feel  more  or  less  attraction;  the  man 
who  can  govern  himself  is  easily,  and  even  without 
his  own  effort,  master  of  his  fellows.  He  was 
working  his  way  up,  too,  in  all  his  college  studies, 
hand  over  hand;  and  human  creatures  worship  suc 
cess,  especially  when  it  is  attained  through  the  in 
dividual's  unassisted  will  and  power.  Then  Stephen 
had  the  physique  for  a  capital  gymnast  or  base  ball 
player.  He  could  not  be  suffered  to  go  his  way 
alone.  So  at  last  Bell  was  deputed  to  make  another 
attempt.  He  went  to  Stephen's  room  one  Sunday 
evening. 

Stephen's  room  did  not  look  uncomfortable,  in 
spite  of  its  plainness  and  of  the  ugly  little  stove. 
A  dark  cloth  covered  his  table,  a  good  lamp  gave 
light  upon  it,  and  by  the  table  sat  the  occupant  of 
the  room,  before  an  open  volume.  He  had  said 
"  Come  in  "  to  Bell's  knock,  and  now  looked  up  ex 
pectantly  as  the  latter  entered. 

"  I  made  sure  you  would  be  ready  for  Monday 


FOUR  WALLS.  557 

morning,"  said  Bell,  glancing  apologetically  at  tbf 
open  book,  "or  I  wouldn't  have  disturbed  you. 
Monday  morning  isn't  much  of  a  pull  anyhow." 

"  Not  much,"  said  Stephen,  "and  I  am  ready  for 
it.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Will  you  ask  me  to  sit  down,  and  give  me  a 
loan  of  five, minutes  ?  " 

"  Willingly  " — Stephen  answered  pleasantly,  as 
he  rose  and  gave  his  visiter  one  of  the  two  chairs 
the  room  contained.  "  Willingly — if  you  come  on 
Sunday  business." 

"Sunday  business? — what's  that?  I  call  Sunday 
business,  what's  done  on  Sunday." 

"  I  call  Sunday  business,  what  is  fit  to  be  done 
on  Sunday." 

"That's  whatever  is  fit  to  be  done  any  day,  isn't 
it?  'The  better  day,  the  better  deed,'  you  know," 
said  the  other,  eyeing  Stephen  curiously  and  doubt 
fully.  "  Proverbs  speak  truth,  proverbially." 

"Man's  truth,"  said  Stephen.  "About  Sunday, 
what  you  want  to  know  is  God's  truth.  If  you'll 
excuse  me,  I  will  give  you  that."  He  turned  over 
a  few  leaves  of  the  book  before  him,  and  then  read 
aloud. 

"  '  If  thou  turn  away  thy  foot  from  the  Sabbath, 
from  doing  thy  pleasure  on  my  holy  day;  and  call 
the  Sabbath  a  delight,  the  holy  of  the  Lord,  hon 
ourable  ;  and  shalt  honour  him ;  not  doing  thine  own 
ways,  or  finding  thine  own  pleasure,  or  speaking 
thine  own  words;  then  shalt  thou  delight  thyself 
in  the  Lord  and  I  will  set  thee  upon  the  high 


558  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

places  of  the  earth,  and  will  feed  thee  with  the  her 
itage  of  Jacob  thy  father;  for  the  mouth  of  the 
Lord  hath  spoken  it.'" 

Stephen  read,  in  a  way  that  commanded  his 
visiter's  attention,  and  then  looked  up  at  him. 

"You  are  going  to  be  a  parson!"  said  Bell 
bluntly. 

"  No;  that  is  a  wrong  guess." 

"  What  then  ?     May  I  ask  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"Well,  but  what  are  you  studying  for,  man?" 

"  To  fetch  up  lost  time,  and  make  of  myself  all  I 
can." 

"Don't  know  what  for?" 

"No.  Except  generally;  to  do  the  work  I  am 
best  fitted  to  do." 

"  I  should  say  it  was  preaching." 

"You  have  not  heard  me,"  said  Stephen  smiling. 
"  What  I  read  you  just  now  were  not  my  words ; 
but  they  were  words  I  thought  you  might  be  the 
better  for  knowing." 

"There  was  nothing  about  Sunday  in  them," 
said  Bell  with  a  twinkle  of  his  eye. 

"Yes, — excuse  me.  The  Sabbath  is  the  rest  of 
the  seventh  day.  We  have  it  Sunday ;  the  Jews 
have  it  Saturday." 

The  young  man  eyed  Stephen  curiously.  What 
sort  of  a  fellow  was  this  ?  A  new  variety,  certainly ; 
further  than  that  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind. 
Yet  there  was  something  about  Stephen,  his  calm, 
perfectly  frank  manner,  his  reposeful,  intelligent 


FOUR  WALLS.  559 

face,  which  attracted  the  other  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  Anyhow,"  as  he  remarked  to  one  of  his  friends, 
"  there  is  a  flavour  in  novelty." 

"You  have  not  joined  any  Society  yet,  have 
you  ?  "  he  began  again. 

"No.     lam  a  stranger  here.     I  know  nobody." 

"  We  don't  want  that  to  be  true  any  longer,"  said 
Bell  pleasantly.  "  If  you'll  join  us,  I'll  propose 
you,  and  introduce  you,  and  all  that ;  and  then  you 
will  not  be  a  stranger  any  longer." 

"You  are  very  kind.  But  I  must  not  engage  in 
anything  that  will  rob  me  of  time;  I  have  a  great 
deal  of  way  to  make  up." 

"  It  will  take  a  little  time,  but  none  too  much," 
said  Bell  persuasively.  "A  fellow's  head  grows 
stuffy  if  he  stays  too  long  inside  of  his  four 
walls." 

"  I  believe  that  may  be  true." 

"  Then  will  you  join  us  ?  " 

"  Willingly ; — if  you  will  join  me." 

"Your  Society?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  one.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"Tell  me  first  what  yours  is,  for  I  know  but 
very  dimly." 

In  answer  to  which  Bell  went  at  some  detail  into 
the  purpose  and  manner  of  the  rival  Societies  in 
the  College.  Stephen  listened. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  that  will  do.  I  will  stand  to 
my  bargain.  I  will  join  you,  if  you  will  join  me." 

"  You  must  say  in  what." 


560  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Yes.  I  will  do  that.  My  Society  is  a  very  large 
one,  and  holds  people  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 
Its  object,  and  expectation,  is  to  get  possession  of 
the  whole  earth.  Its  work  is  to  bring  light  into 
the  darkness  and  carry  bread  to  the  hungry.  Its 
privileges  are  manifold;  one  being  that  its  mem 
bers  may  draw  upon  an  inexhaustible  treasury, 
both  of  riches  and  wisdom,  in  all  their  life  affairs. 
Jt  has  its  assemblies  and  meetings,  from  time  to 
time,  and  in  various  localities;  but  its  final  place 
of  assembly  is  in  the  courts  of  its  King;  where 
every  one  of  the  Society  will  receive  after  his  la 
bours  the  gift  of  eternal  life.  And  its  Chief  and 
King  is  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

I  should  fail  in  trying  to  give  the  bewilderment 
and  astonished  surprise  of  the  other  man  as  this 
detail  was  given  him.  He  sat  looking  at  Stephen 
witli  his  mouth  half  open,  staring  as  at  a  wonder 
of  nature.  Indeed  no  natural  wonder  would  have 
moved  him  like  this  social  curiosity.  It  was  not 
like  anything  he  had  ever  seen  or  heard  in  his 
whole  life.  It  was  not  cant,  and  it  was  not  even 
preaching.  Stephen  glanced  at  him  once  or  twice 
as  he  spoke,  but  for  the  most  part  kept  his  eyes 
lowered  to  his  book;  uttering  sentence  after  sen 
tence  rather  slowly,  in  the  manner  of  one  who  en 
joys  what  he  is  speaking  of  and  enjoys  speaking 
of  it;  with  a  strange  emphasis  of  inward  and  sweet 
conviction  and  assurance  of  knowledge;  with  a 
grave  face,  and  yet  a  face  so  ennobled  by  the  spirit 
within,  and  a  voice  so  clarified  by  some  mental 


FOUR  WALLS.  561 

elixir,  that  Bell,  as  I  said,  sat  and  stared,  spell 
bound.  He  recognized  Stephen's  audacity,  that  he 
should  dare  to  come  out  to  a  fellow  student  in  that 
tone,  and  he  admired  his  bravery;  but  he  did  more; 
he  respected  his  truth.  He  felt  no  disposition  to 
attack  him;  and  when  Stephen  ceased  speaking, 
there  followed  a  silence  of  two  or  three  minutes. 

"There  was  another  thing  I  wanted  to  speak 
of,"  Bell  said  then,  leaving  the  question  of  Societies. 
"  I've  got  a  box  from  home — came  yesterday — my 
mother  sent  it  to  me;  you  know,  some  of  the  fel 
lows  are  lucky  enough  to  get  things  from  home 
now  and  then,  and  I'm  one  of  the  favoured  ones. 
Two  or  three  of  my  friends  are  coming  to-morrow 
night  to  eat  supper  with  me ; — will  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  am  such  a  stranger — I  am  afraid  I  should 
spoil  your  sport." 

"  You  won't  be  a  stranger,  you  know,  ten  min 
utes.  You  are  not  a  stranger  to  we,  now;  and  I 
haven't  been  here  much  more  than  that.  Do  come, 
Kay !  my  mother  has  sent  me  things  enough  to 
ruin  me,  if  I  can't  get  some  help." 

I  think  it  was  partly  owing  to  the  influence  of 
some  far-reaching  association,  that  Stephen  did  not 
refuse  his  consent.  There  was  something  in  the 
words,  "my  mother  has  sent  me  things" — which 
touched  some  deep  hidden  string  in  his  heart.  So 
another  mother  would  have  done  for  himself,  if  she 
had  been  living  and  had  the  means;  and  the  name 
which  had  no  living  representative  for  him,  yet 
appealed  to  him  through  its  relation  to  another. 


562  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Stephen  gave  his  promise,  but  I  doubt  whether, 
supposing  the  box  had  been  sent  to  Bell  by  his 
sister  or  his  aunt,  he  would  have  gained  that  par 
ticular  guest  for  his  table.  However,  Stephen  said 
he  would  come. 

"  And  then  we'll  discuss  further  the  question  of 
Societies,"  said  Bell  in  conclusion. 

"I'll  stand  to  my  bargain,"  said  Stephen  pleas 
antly. 

"All  right.  But  I  say,  Kay! — don't  go  and 
serve  that  particular  card  upon  the  rest  of  the 
fellows,  you  know." 

"  Why  not  V  " 

"0  they  might  throw  up  the  game — refuse  to 
play  with  you,  in  short." 

"They  will  have  no  chance.  I  play  no  cards, 
with  anybody." 

"  But  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  Don't  do  it ;  they 
might  cut  up  stiff,  and  refuse  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  you.  And  you  don't  wish  that." 

"  No,"  said  Stephen  quietly,  "  I  do  not  wish  that." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 
A  SUPPEE. 

"  n^HAT  means,  it  don't  make  much  difference  to 
1  him,"  said  Bell  to  himself  as  he  went  back 
to  his  room.  u  Well,  I  like  him  anyhow."  And  he 
told  one  of  his  friends  that  Stephen  was  a  queer 
chap  and  a  study. 

"  I've  got  no  time  to  study  him,"  said  the  other ; 
"but  I'll  put  in  an  appearance  this  evening,  and 
look  at  him." 

There  were  four  or  five  of  them  altogether ;  and 
whether  or  no  they  studied  Stephen,  certain  it  is 
that  he  studied  them.  It  was  a  new  bit  of  experi 
ence  for  the  country-bred  boy,  and  a  new  phasis  of 
college  life.  Stephen  himself  was  quiet  and  silent 
as  usual,  according  to  his  custom  in  general  com 
pany ;  all  the  more  he  took  the  effect  of  the  immense 
display  of  waste  energy  around  him.  His  own 
energy,  and  we  know  he  had  plenty,  was  always 
contained  and  controlled,  like  the  power  of  a  steam 
engine;  allowed  to  escape  only  so  far  as  it  was 
needful  to  move  the  works  of  the  machinery  with 
which  it  was  connected.  This  supper  party  seemed 

(563) 


564  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

to  be  the  occasion  for  a  general  letting  off  of  steam, 
without  any  particular  machinery,  or  work,  or  any 
end  in  view,  or  attained,  that  Stephen  could  see. 
The  members  of  the  party  it  is  hardly  necessary  to 
describe.  Intelligence,  young  vigour,  fullness  of  life 
and  spirits,  more  or  less  of  good  features  and  good 
mariner;  everyone  knows  the  sort  of  thing  presented 
to  Stephen's  observation,  and  which  to  him  was  so 
new.  I  might  say  that  jollity  was  the  ruling  char 
acteristic  of  the  entertainment,  pervading  the  ma 
terial  as  well  as  the  spiritual  elements  of  it.  The 
table  in  the  little  room  was  not  big  enpugh  to  hold 
all  that  should  go  upon  it;  places  were  improvised 
in  all  sorts  of  ways  for  the  pies  and  the  bread  and 
the  cream  pitcher,  as  well  aa  for  sundry  less  inno 
cent  looking  bottles;  and  then  coffee  was  made, 
and  salad  concocted,  and  finally  the  consumption 
of  good  things  began.  And  all  this  was  done  with 
an  incalculable  amount  of  loud  laughter  and  bustle 
and  slang.  To  be  noisy,  seemed  to  be  one  of  the 
esteemed  privileges  of  the  occasion. 

The  supply  Avas  most  abundant.  Mrs.  Bell  must 
have  plenty  of  means  at  command,  and  cherish  a 
very  tender  regard  for  her  son,  to  judge  by  the 
carefulness  with  which  his  tastes  were  consulted 
and  provided  for.  Cakes  and  pies,  fruit  and  lob 
sters,  oysters  and  sweetmeats,  were  all  there,  and 
of  excellent  quality.  Bell  himself  had  added  the 
coffee  and  the  wine;  and  the  entertainment  pro 
ceeded  upon  the  most  approved  plan  of  enjoying 
everything;  with  boisterous  raillery  and  gay  jesting. 


A  SUPPER.  565 

Stephen  was  certainly  a  marked  variety  from  his 
fellows.  He  was  silent,  he  was  quiet,  he  was  grave, 
he  eat  moderately,  he  talked  no  slang.  Yet  he 
enjoyed  himself  too;  for  every  new  exhibition  of 
life  was  interesting  to  him.  And  there  was  besides 
an  odd  savour  the  entertainment  had  for  him,  in 
that  Bell  had  said,  "my  mother  sent  it  to  me." 
The  words  and  the  thought  came  back  again  and 
again  to  Stephen,  as  he  sat  at  the  laden  board  and 
the  laughter  echoed  around  him.  The  relationship 
so  long  ago  faded  out  for  him,  was  here  in  full  life 
and  bloom.  /Bell  was  a  happy  fellow.  How  very, 
very  long  ago  it  was,  since  Stephen  could  say  "my 
mother,"  of  anything  still  in  possession.  And  now, 
— there  was  neither  that  nor  anything  else  left. 

He  hardly  knew  what  a  contrast  he  made  with 
his  companions;  he  certainly  did  not  guess  that  it 
was  a  contrast  which  had  somewhat  of  an  impos 
ing  effect  upon  them.  Somehow,  to  human  nature 
the  fact  that  an  individual  or  a  society  does  not 
need  you,  raises  inevitably  an  uneasy  suspicion  that 
you  need  them.  Stephen  seemed  some  one  apart  from 
his  surroundings.  And  was  truly  so.  He  was 
living,  at  this  time  of  his  life,  like  a  man  who  has 
gone  up  into  high  altitudes,  beyond  the  line  of  veg 
etation,  and  from  thence  looks  out  upon  what  is  to 
him  practically  a  dead  world.  He  may  be  nearer 
heaven,  but  he  is  further  from  earth.  With  some 
such  a  distant,  separate  feeling,  Stephen  sat  at 
Bell's  table  that  night  and  eat  oysters.  Perhaps 
the  others  felt  it;  perhaps  it  irritated  them. 


566  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"Mr.  Kay,"  said  one,  "have  the  kindness  to  hand 
up  that  pie  on  the  floor  by  you; — if  we  don't  dis 
pose  of  some  more  of  these  things  Bell  will  have 
an  indigestion.  I  am  very  fond  of  Bell, — very !  " 

"  Thanks !  You  don't  do  much  to  help  us,"  re 
marked  another,  as  he  took  the  pie  from  Stephen's 
hand. 

"  I  am  not  so  fond  of  Bell,"  he  returned. 

"  And  you  don't  talk,  either,"  said  a  third.  "Now 
we  have  been  unbosoming  ourselves  of  all  our  most 
secret  thoughts,  laying  ourselves  bare  before  your 
eyes,  as  it  were;  confidence  always  deserves 
confidence." 

"  I  never  heard  that,"  said  Stephen. 

There  was  a  general  outcry  of  assertion.  "0 
yes,  it  does." — "  Of  course  it  does !  " 

"Not  where  I  was  brought  up,"  said  Stephen. 
"There,  when  any  one  gives  me  his  confidence 
before  he  knows  me,  I  feel  sure  I  know  him  too 
well  to  give  him  mine." 

"  Where  were  you  raised,  anyway  ?  "  asked  one 
of  the  company,  amid  some  laughter. 

"At  a  small  country  town  in  a  neighbouring 
State." 

"  Don't  burn  much  gunpowder  there,  do  they  ?  " 

"No.     It's  a  quiet  place." 

"  How  do  you  bear  the  change  ?  " 

"I  do  not  change,"  said  Stephen  smiling.  "I 
am  quiet  here." 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Sphinx,  are  you  never  any 
thing  else  ?  " 


A  SUPPER.  567 

For  the  space  of  half  a  second  there  passed  a 
sudden  shadow  over  Stephen's  face;  then  he  an 
swered  by  a  simple  negative. 

"  Bad !  That's  unhealthy ;  we  must  do  something 
to  wake  you  up.  I  don't  like  to  see  somebody 
quieter  than  myself.  Wherein  does  your  great 
strength  lie,  O  Samson  ?  How  can  you  be  easiest 
made  like  other  men  ?  " 

"  Samson  made  a  mistake  when  he  told." 

"  Didn't  he,  though !  And  don't  you  ever  make 
mistakes  ?  Come !  take  a  glass  of  wine,  to  the  health 
of  cheerfulness ;  maybe  that  will  stir  you  up." 

"  I  have  had  coffee,  thank  you." 

"  That's  a  reason  for  taking  wine." 

"Not  with  me." 

"It  won't  hurt  you,  anyway,"  said  the  young 
man,  still  holding  out  the  bottle.  "  1  guess  Sam 
son  had  a  swallow  of  something  that  day  before 
he  pulled  the  house  down.  Take  it  to  comfort  your 
heart. ': 

"  It  is  the  last  quarter  to  which  I  should  think 
of  applying  for  comfort." 

"Really  ?  Shews  you  don't  know  this  champagne. 
I  tell  you,  Bell  has  it  good.  Why  man,  the  com 
fort  is  in  the  bottle ;  perdu  there,  like  the  genius 
in  the  fisherman's  bottle.  You  know  the  story  of 
the  fisherman  and  the  genius  ?  " 

"No,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"  Never  read  that  book,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  book  it  is." 

"  I  see  !  "  said  the  other,  filling  his  own  glass, — 


568  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  I  see  your  education  has  been,  to  say  the  least, 
partial.  Listen.  A  fisherman  fished  up  a  bottle, 
out  of  the  deep  sea.  Not  being  scientific,  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  it  was  a  strange  natural  pro 
duction ;  but  he  took  it  to  be  what  it  seemed;  a 
bottle.  The  bottle  was  well  corked  and  sealed; 
therefore  of  course  it  had  something  in  it.  And 
also  of  course,  with  some  trouble  the  fisherman 
broke  the  seal,  and  pulled  the  cork  out.  Lo,  what 
the  bottle  had  contained  was  the  Spirit  of  cheer 
fulness.  There  rose  up  first,  softly,  a  slight  vapour ; 
odorous  and  pleasant;  that  was  the  first  beginnings 
of  cheer,  which  One  perceives  in  one's  heart  at  the 
very  sniff  of  the  bouquet;  the  vapour  rose,  and  en 
larged,  and  grew  more  solid, — like  the  comfort  in 
one's  mind, — and  by  degrees  it  began  to  assume 
lines  and  a  shape,  and  bodied  itself  forth  into  an 
enormous  figure  of  the  Genius,  standing  above  the 
bottle  he  had  come  out  of,  with  his  head  almost 
reaching  the  sky." 

"What  happened  then?"  asked  Stephen  quietly. 

What  happened  around  the  table  was  a  general 
roar.  The  boys  shouted  and  almost  danced  in 
their  seats  for  delight.  "  Caught,  Barbour !  by  all 
that's  unlucky.  Now  you've  got  it.  Save  your 
self,  man  !  How  will  you,  old  fellow  ?  "- 

"  I  am  waiting  for  the  end  of  the  story,"  said 
Stephen;  to  whom  in  the  mean  while  it  had  come, 
that  he  had  heard  the  story.  Posie  had  told  it 
him.  The  cries  around  him  went  on ;  perhaps  cham 
pagne  had  something  to  do  with  them. 


A  SUPPER.  569 

11  Floored,  Barbour !  "— 

"  Hashed !  "— 

"Up  a  tree!  Now  let's  see  how  you'll  come 
down.  Do  it  gracefully,  man  !  " 

"The  story  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  thing," 
said  Barbour  a  little  gloomily.  "  I  only  used  it  for 
a  beastly  illustration.  You  never  expect  an  illus 
tration  to  be  good  all  through." 

"  It  happens  uncommonly  well  in  this  case,"  ob 
served  Stephen.  "  Fits  better  the  second  part  than 
the  first." 

"  How  ?  "  demanded  Barbour  a  little  wrathfully. 
"  And  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  When  you  began,  I  remembered  that  I  had 
heard  the  story  somewhere.  The  fisherman  found 
that  the  spirit  he  had  uncorked  had  become  his 
master.  He  was  a  lost  fisherman.  Now  you  un 
derstand  my  objection  to  opening  the  bottle." 

"That's  the  story,"  said  another  of  the  young 
men,  pouring  himself  out  another  glass  as  he  spoke, 
— "  but  as  Barbour  says,  it  is  only  an  illustration, 
and  dorit  fit.  The  spirit  need  not  become  the  mas 
ter.  There  is  no  necessity." 

"What's  to  hinder?" 

"  Why  !  A  man's  own  will.  I  need  not  drink 
any  more  than  I  choose." 

"The  spirit  is  not  under  your  power;  you  are 
begging  the  question.  And  what  the  fisherman 
saw  at  first,  was  nothing  but  a  little  cloud.  He 
had  no  idea  what  shape  and  proportions  it  would 
take." 


570  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  I  say ! "  said  the  other,  who  was  called  Ratcliffe, 
pouring  out  another  glassful  of  the  beautiful  spark 
ling  liquor, — "  I  say !  I  can  stop  whenever  I 
choose ! " 

"  Prove  it," — said  Stephen  quietly.  The  others 
laughed  again. 

"  But  the  fisherman  got  the  genius  into  the  bot 
tle  again,"  said  Barbour.  "  So  can  we,  if  we've  a 
mind  to." 

"  Under  Solomon's  seal — "  added  Stephen. 

"What  do  you  mean?  what  was  his  seal?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  its  carvings  were,  if  you 
mean  that.  But  I  can  tell  you  the  motto." 

«  What  ?  "  said  Bell.     "  Let's  hear." 

"Do  you  wish  to  hear  it?"  said  Stephen.  "You 
may  not  like  it." 

"  I  guess  we  can  stand  it,  if  we  don't.  Go  ahead, 
old  fellow ! " 

"  It  is  the  motto  of  total  abstinence.  *  Look  not 
thou  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,  when  it  giveth 
his  colour  in  the  cup,  when  it  moveth  itself  aright. 
At  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth 
like  an  adder.'" 

"  I've  heard  that  before,"  said  Ratcliffe. 

"  It's  stupid  stuff  anyhow,"  said  Barbour. 

"  Yet  Solomon  was  a  wise  man,"  said  Stephen. 

"What  is  it  about  'biting  like  a  serpent'?"  asked 
Bell.  "  Is  the  hurt  of  a  snake  bite  so  great  ?  " 

"So  dangerous,"  said  Stephen.  "And  then,  it 
is  given  so  in  the  dark,  before  you  know  danger 
is  there,  you  have  death." 


A  SUPPER.  571 

"Well,  come,  we've  had  enough  of  this,"  said 
one  or  two  of  the  young  men,  starting  up  from 
the  table.  "  Where  are  the  cards,  Bell  ?  Let'« 
get  these  things  out  of  the  way  somehow." 

So  there  was  a  general  stir.  The  table  was 
cleared,  dishes  and  glasses  and  broken  meat  being 
stowed  promiscuously  in  Bell's  closet,  on  shelves 
and  floor  and  everywhere.  Stephen  helped  them ; 
and  pitied  Bell's  after  work  the  next  day.  Then 
the  party  gathered  anew  round  the  table  and  the 
cards  were  produced.  But  Stephen  would  not  take 
one. 

"You  don't  play?"  cried  one. 

"No,  thank  you." 

"Don't  know  the  game?"  said  Bell.  "That 
don't  matter,  old  fellow;  I'll  teach  you  in  a  hand 
or  two." 

"  I  do  not  know  the  game,"  Stephen  answered. 
"  I  would  rather  not  know  it  ?  " 

"  Scruples  ?  "  said  Bell,  looking  at  him  in  some 
dismay. 

"If  you  like." 

"  Scruples  about  a  game  of  whist  ?  "  exclaimed 
Barbour.  "  0  come  now  !  that's  too  rich.  Why  a 
sucking  baby  might  play  a  game  of  whist." 

There  was  a  roar  again,  at  the  supposed  capaci 
ties  of  the  infant  in  question;  and  then  they  all 
returned  to  the  charge  upon  Stephen. 

"  Take  a  hand ! "  said  Thorpe,  the  fourth  of  the 
party;  a  quiet  gentlemanly  fellow,  whose  face 
shewed  sense  and  good  breeding. 


572  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  You  are  not  going  ? "  cried  Bell,  as  Stephen 
rose.  "  Man,  if  you  can't  play,  sit  still  and  look 
on.  I'd  promise  you  a  glass  of  punch,  only  you'd 
throw  that  bottle  at  me.  Sit  down !  you  sha'n't 
go  yet.  What's  your  objection  to  a  game  of  cards, 
anyhow  ?  " 

"  Do  you  see  any  harm  in  little  painted  bits  of 
pasteboard  ?  "  Thorpe  asked. 

"Not  in  the  bits  of  pasteboard." 

"In  what  then?  Speak  up,  man;  you  won't 
convert  us,  so  we  are  not  afraid  of  you." 

"  What  is  the  use  then  of  my  speaking  ? "  Ste 
phen  asked  smiling. 

"Why  for  the  sport  of  the  thing.  You  don't 
know  what  a  rum  thing  it  is  for  anybody  to  come 
out  as  you  are  doing  to-night.  It  quite  gives 
one  a  sensation.  It's  like  a  cold  shower-bath, — 
strengthening." 

There  was  mockery  in  the  tone.  The  speaker 
was  Ratcliffe.  Stephen  stood  silent,  looking  down 
upon  the  group  and  the  cards  on  the  table. 

"I  should  really  like  to  hear,  though,"  said 
Thorpe,  "  what  possible  objection  can  lie  against 
a  game  of  whist  such  as  we  are  going  to  have 
to-night.  It's  a  beautiful  game  !  "  he  went  on  with 
an  appealing  look  at  Stephen.  "And  it's  a  sensi 
ble  game." 

"Is  it?"  Stephen  said. 

"  Yes.     Any  one  will  tell  you  so." 

"What's  the  sense  of  it?" 

"  The  good  of  it,  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Bell,  who 


A  SUPPER.  573 

was  rather  anxious  that  Stephen  should  leave  a 
tolerable  impression  upon  the  minds  of  his  friends. 
"  Why,  amusement — recreation.  There  can't  be  a 
more  harmless  way  of  getting  it,  to  my  thinking." 
He  was  dealing  busily  as  he  spoke,  and  Stephen 
watched  him. 

"  The  question  remains,"  he  answered,  "  whether 
it  is  the  best  way  of  getting  it.  Is  there  nothing 
better  ?  " 

The  three  other  guests  of  the  little  party  were 
silent  now,  with  undisguised  looks  of  displeasure 
and  disgust.  Bell  replied  with  a  counter  question. 
"  What's  the  harm  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Stephen,  slowly  and  gently, 
looking  down  at  the  eager  hands  which  were  tak 
ing  up  the  cards  and  the  eyes  which  were  scanning 
them ;  in  the  midst  of  which  occupation  an  angry 
glance  was  now  and  then  shot  in  his  direction. 
"  I  do  not  know  any  of  the  games;  but  I  never  saw 
them  played,  anywhere,  but  they  led  to  mischief. 
So  I  made  up  my  mind  that  they  were  the  devil's 
playthings,  and  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
them." 

"Is  the  devil  one  of  your  friends?"  asked  Rat- 
cliffe  derisively. 

"  So  far  from  it,  that  I  will  not  even  touch  any 
thing  that  belongs  to  him." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  cards  'do ! "  said  Bell 
with  some  heat  and  scorn. 

"  I  never  saw  them  do  any  but  his  work." 

" That  is  sufficient,"  said  Thorpe.     "We  do  not 


574  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

wish  to  constrain  any  one,  or  offend  any  one's  scru 
ples.  We  must  lose  Mr.  Kay  or  our  game,  Bell," 
he  went  on,  putting  down  his  cards.  "Which 
shall  it  be?" 

Stephen  settled  the  question  by  taking  his  leave 
at  once. 

"If  you  staid  and  saw  the  game,  you  would 
change  your  mind,"  said  Bell  regretfully. 

"  Don't  propose  it !  "  cried  Ratcliffe.  "  You  for 
get  what  company  we  are  supposed  to  be  in." 

And  Stephen  went  back  to  his  room,  thinking 
he  had  been  hardly  wise  in  leaving  it.  One  game 
was  followed  by  another  in  the  party  he  had  quitted ; 
but  somehow  they  did  not  go  right  comfortably  to 
night.  The  young  men  played,  and  if  they  thought 
of  Stephen  thought  of  him  indignantly ;  and  yet, 
nevertheless,  his  words  and  manner  had  left  an  ef 
fect  behind  them.  It  was  partly  his  manner,  no 
doubt.  His  manner  puzzled  them.  Stephen  had 
seen  almost  nothing  of  what  is  known  as  the  po 
lite  world;  and  there  was  nothing  conventional 
about  him.  But  Stephen  was  standing  now  where 
all  the  world  and  all  the  people  in  it  were  nothing 
to  him ;  he  had  the  calm,  detached  air  of  one  who 
is  superior  to  it  all.  His  companions  did  not  un 
derstand  it,  but  felt  oddly  the  superiority.  At  the 
same  time  his  heart  was  full  of  courtesy  and  active 
good  will,  so  that  what  would  have  been  distance 
became  a  fine  simplicity.  And  Stephen's  face  cor 
responded  to  his  manner. 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  is  that  you  have  picked 


A  SUPPER.  575 

up,    Bell?"   Thorpe   asked  in    the   course   of  the 
evening. 

"  Don't  know  him  from  the  Great  Mogul — "  Bell 
answered,  dealing  his  cards. 

"He's  peculiar." 

"  He's  a  fool,"  said  Ratcliffe. 

"He  don't  think  small  potatoes  of  himself,"  said 
Barbour.  "Pie's  beastly  conceited." 

"  He'll  do  himself  up,"  said  Bell.  "  He  knows 
nobody  here;  and  I  asked  him  to-night  purely 
out  of  good  will  and  kindness.  I  am  sorry  I  did, 
now." 

"He'll  blow  himself  up,  if  that's  the  beastly  tone 
he  takes,"  said  Barbour.  "There  ^.re  some  folks 
you  can't  help,  Bell;  it's  no  go.  It's  awfully  good 
of  you,  but  it  won't  do." 

"  He's  so  beastly  superior ! "  added  Ratcliffe. 
"  He  deserves  all  he'll  get." 

If  they  could  have  seen  Stephen  at  that  moment, 
on  his  knees  in  his  little  room,  praying  for  them ! 
Whether  however  it  were  Stephen's  words  or  his 
looks  that  were  the  cause,  somehow  the  play  was 
not  as  hearty  as  usual  that  night,  and  broke  up 
earlier.  Thorpe  was  the  first  to  throw  his  cards 
down  and  rise  from  the  table;  and  then  he  stood 
moodily  before  the  fire,  while  the  others  took  leave 
and  went  away. 

"  Bell,"  said  he,  "  I  like  that  chap  yonder." 

"  Kay  ?  Do  you?  "  said  Bell.  " I  was  afraid  he 
had  done  himself  up." 

Not  with  me.     I  like  to  see  a  fellow  stand  up 


576  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

for  anything  he  thinks  right.     He's  got  a  good 
deal  of. pluck,  do  you  know?" 

"He'll  need  it  all,"  said  Bell,  "if  he  goes  on  like 
that.  I  warned  him,  too." 

"That's  what  he  did  for  us,  old  fellow." 

"He  is  a  fool,  though,"  said  Bell.  "You  can't 
rule  the  world  by  talking." 

"  I've  heard  talk  like  that  before,"  said  Thorpe, 
by  way  of  slow  concession. 

"  0  so  have  I." 

"  Are  you  sure  there  isn't  something  in  it,  after 
all?" 

"  What  should  there  be  ?  There  must  be  some 
way  of  entertaining  people,  and  of  getting  amuse 
ment.  What  better,  for  a  quiet  way,  than  cards  ? 
One  can't  carry  a  billiard  table  about  in  one's 
pocket." 

"  Ask  him  some  time  what  he  does  for  amuse 
ment.     I'm  curious  to  know  what  he  would  say. 
Anyhow  he's  no  fool,  Bell.     He's  got  a  capital  good 
head  of  his  own." 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
A  SICK  NUKSE. 

IT  was  Bell's  expectation,  after  this  night's  experi 
ence,  that  Stephen  would  "do  himself  up  with 
the  fellows,"  as  he  expressed  it.  Yet  the  expecta 
tion  was  hardly  made  good.  It  is  true,  Stephen 
was  not  often  asked  to  a  supper  party,  and  still  more 
rarely  went  to  one ;  he  could  not  be  said  to  have 
much  society;  but  on  the  other  hand  he  was  not 
outlawed  or  despised.  It  was  impossible  to  despise 
Stephen  Kay.  With  his  quiet,  unobtrusive,  un 
demonstrative  way,  he  simply  walked  to  the  head 
of  his  class  and  staid  there.  In  discussing  him, 
they  said  he  was  not  brilliant;  perhaps  he  was  not; 
he  was  something  much  better.  A  clear,  calm, 
comprehensive  understanding,  which  regularly 
went  to  the  bottom  of  what  it  was  busied  with ;  a 
memory  of  tough  tenacity,  which  lost  nothing  once 
lodged  in  it;  a  power  of  concentration,  which 
shewed  his  mind  to  be  the  servant  of  his  will;  and 
a  will  which  was  bent  upon  doing  and  attaining 
the  utmost  possible;  no  wonder  it  was  not  long  be 
fore  both  among  the  faculty  and  the  under  gradu- 

(577) 


578  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

ates,  Stephen  Kay  was  a  marked  man  and  a  man 
talked  of.  It  had  got  about,  more  or  less,  that  he 
was  an  impracticable  fellow,  with  odd  notions; 
nevertheless  it  was  impossible  that  those  who  saw 
his  fine,  lofty  countenance  and  noticed  his  invaria 
bly  courteous  manner  and  frank  bearing,  should 
not  feel  themselves  attracted  to  him.  These  are 
the  qualities  which  command  respect  from  all  sorts 
of  people,  under-graduates  not  excepted.  So  some 
of  them  tried  to  draw  him  into  their  roistering 
parties;  that  failed.  Thorpe  however  did  succeed 
in  getting  him  into  some  of  the  athletic  sports  arid 
games  of  his  class,  and  there  he  speedily  became  a 
coveted  champion.  To  say  that  he  became  a  fav 
ourite  would  be  going  too  far.  Stephen  was  too 
grave  for  them,  and  there  was  an  instinctive  want 
of  sympathy.  However,  as  far  as  gymnastic  exer 
cises,  races,  and  foot  ball  were  concerned,  he  took 
his  place  among  the  best;  and  that  was  much  in  his 
favour.  It  went  somewhat  against  him,  as  time 
went  on,  that  he  was  known  to  be  invited  to  the 
houses  of  some  of  the  faculty.  This  had  come 
about  partly  by  chance  at  first,  in  consequence 
of  a  meeting  with  one  of  the  professors  in  the 
library.  Stephen  wanted  a  certain  book,  and  did 
not  know  what  to  ask  for;  and  finding  his  oppor 
tunity,  approached  the  professor  and  asked  to  be 
directed.  This  led  to  talk,  and  talk  to  an  invita 
tion,  and  one  invitation  led  to  another.  And  so  it 
came  to  pass,  that  as  time  went  on  Stephen  entered 
into  a  circle  of  society  and  a  sort  of  intercourse 


A  SICK  NURSE.  579 

which  were  invaluable  to  him.  But  with  his  fel 
low  students  he  remained  as  before;  highly  re 
spected,  and  very  much  let  alone. 

This  was  about  the  state  of  things  towards  the 
end  of  Stephen's  second  year  in  college.  Of  Cow 
slip  and  its  inhabitants,  in  all  this  time,  he  had 
seen  but  little.  A  happy  mistake  of  the  post  office 
had  saved  him  from  Posie's  wedding;  something 
had  occasioned  the  time  set  for  it  to  be  hastened, 
anticipating  by  a  week  the  original  date ;  and  the 
letter  warning  Stephen  of  the  change  had  reached 
him  too  late,  having  been  detained  or  delayed.  He 
gave  thanks  for  what  was  to  him  a  deliverance. 
Posie  left  home  immediately  upon  her  marriage, 
and  Stephen  had  never  seen  her  again.  Two  or 
three  times  he  had  gone  back  to  Cowslip  for  a  short 
visit;  he  never  found  it  advisable  to  make  it  a  long 
one.  The  place  was  empty  now;  he  had  no  work 
to  do  there,  for  Mr.  Harden  brook  was  as  able  as 
ever  to  look  after  his  business;  and  if  the  two  left 
of  the  family  found  pleasure  in  his  presence,  the 
pleasure  was  so  vitiated  by  discontent  with  his  go 
ing  away  again,  that  on  the  whole  the  gain  was 
too  small  to  be  much  taken  into  account.  Stephen 
kept  himself  informed  by  letter  of  the  condition  of 
things  in  his  old  home ;  and  as  long  as  he  was  not 
needed  there,  deemed  it  best  to  devote  himself  to 
the  work  immediately  in  hand. 

So  the  months  and  the  terms  had  succeeded  each 
other,  and  each  found  him  steadily  making  his  way 
upward  and  onward;  in  his  proper  college  course 


580  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

at  least,  and  in  the  regard  of  his  superiors,  if  not  in 
the  affections  of  those  around  him.  Towards  the 
end  of  his  second  year  there  came  an  advance  in 
that  direction  too. 

It  came  on  this  wise.  His  neighbour,  Mr.  Bell, 
was  taken  ill.  A  violent  cold  and  inflammation  laid 
him  on  his  back  and  threatened  to  keep  him  there, 
or  do  worse.  This  became  known  to  Stephen  after 
a  day  or  two,  and  he  immediately  took  his  way  to 
Bell's  room.  He  found  his  classmate  suffering  and 
hot  with  fever,  lying  in  a  little  dark  inner  room, 
off  the  one  where  they  had  sat  that  night  at  sup 
per.  The  air  of  both  apartments  very  close  and 
stifling;  the  fire  made  up  to  a  furious  degree  of 
power;  and  in  short,  everything  just  as  for  a  sick 
room  it  ought  not  to  be. 

Stephen  quietly  and  at  once  took  things  into  his 
own  management.  Indeed  there  was  no  one  else 
to  manage  anything;  and  the  sick  man  was  too  ill 
and  suffering  to  make  objections  or  care  much 
what  went  on  around  him,  except  so  far  as  it 
touched  his  immediate  condition.  Neither  did 
Stephen  trouble  him  with  asking  his  leave  or 
counsel.  Guarding  the  patient  well,  he  opened  the 
windows  and  changed  the  air  of  the  room ;  damped 
the  fire;  relieved  poor  Bell  of  an  enormous  load  of 
comfortables  which  had  been  piled  upon  him  by 
the  zeal  of  the  landlady;  arranged  his  pillows,  and 
administered  draughts  of  refreshing.  Bell  let  him 
do  what  he  would,  only  rousing  himself  to  say, 
"  Don't  write  !  " 


A  SICK  NURSE.  581 

"  Home,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Not  a  word.     No  need.     Promise  !  " 

"There  will  be  no  need,  I  hope,"  said  Stephen. 
And  as  far  as  the  care  of  the  invalid  was  con 
cerned,  there  was  no  need.  Everything  was  done 
for  him  and  in  the  most  perfect  manner.  Stephen 
took  up  his  abode  in  the  sick  room,  and  left  it 
neither  by  night  nor  day.  If  he  slept,  it  was  when 
there  was  nothing  to  do;  if  he  studied,  and  he  did 
study,  it  was  when  Bell  did  not  want  him.  The 
doctor  called  him  a  capital  help;  and  after  a  few 
days  of  some  anxiety,  the  disorder  yielded  to  treat 
ment,  Or  to  good  nursing,  or  to  the  patient's  youth 
and  strength,  and  Bell  began  to  come  round  again. 
But  then  he  was  very  weak;  and  Stephen's  minis 
trations  were  still  needed  and  still  given. 

As  soon  as  he  could,  Stephen  brought  his  charge 
out  from  the  stuffy  little  dark  closet  and  made  his 
bed  in  the  outer  room.  There  Stephen  was  con 
stantly  with  him,  sleeping  on  chairs  at  night,  and 
by  day  keeping  all  straight,  maintaining  a  cheerful 
fire,  feeding  Bell,  and  not  seldom  preparing  what 
he  was  to  be  fed  with;  and  what  was  more,  also 
keeping  him  quiet.  At  last  came  the  time  when, 
though  still  prostrate  in  bed,  Bell  might  be  allowed 
to  use  his  voice;  and  he  was  eager  to  avail  himself 
of  the  privilege. 

"  Kay,"  said  he,  watching  Stephen  one  morning, 
— "  you  are  a  trump  !  " 

Stephen  was  making  a  piece  of  toast  at  the  fire, 
and  Bell  lay  watching  him. 


582  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it " — responded  the  former.  "  It 
means  something  favourable,  to  judge  by  your  ac 
cent;  though  I  don't  know  what  it  means." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't.  Never  mind.  What  splen 
did  care  you  do  take  of  a  fellow !  Now  there's  an 
other  first-rate  cup  of  tea  coming  to  me.  I  never 
had  such  cups  of  tea." 

"  You  never  wanted  them  so  much,  perhaps." 

Stephen  had  brought  the  toast  and  the  tea,  and 
was  propping  his  friend  up  with  pillows  so  that  he 
could  take  it  comfortably.  "You  will  say  next, 
you  never  had  such  oysters." 

"  Oysters !  "  cried  Bell. 

"  Yes.  I  have  some  of  the  right  sort  here  in 
the  closet,  that  I  am  going  to  roast  for  you  pres 
ently." 

"You're  a  grand  nurse,  Kay! " 

"  When  I  give  you  oysters," — said  Stephen. 

"  When  you  give  me  anything.  How  many  days 
have  you  lost  for  me  here  ?  " 

"Not  one." 

"You  haven't  been  to  recitations?" 

"No." 

"  Not  for  a  week  and  more  ?  " 

"No." 

"Then  you  have  lost  your  time,  I  should  say." 

"  What  is  lost  time  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  said  Bell,  enjoying  his  cup  of  tea 
and  toast;  "my  head -won't  stand  thinking;  and  def 
initions  always  did  split  it.  Answer  your  own  ques- 
lion,  if  you  like." 


A  SICK  NURSE.  583 

"  That  is  not  difficult.  I  should  say,  lost  time  is 
time  from  which  you  have  not  got  its  worth  as  it 
went." 

"  Its  worth?"  said  Bell  looking  at  him.  "What 
was  it  '  worth '  to  you,  to  take  care  of  me  ?  I  am 
nothing  to  you." 

"  That  is  your  view  of  it." 

"  What  is  yours,  in  heaven's  name  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  heaven's  name,"  said  Stephen  gravely. 
"He  whom  I  serve,  and  love  to  serve,  gave  you  into 
my  charge  and  said,  Take  care  of  this  man  for  me. 
He  is  the  King  of  heaven." 

Bell  stared. 

"  Do  you  object  to  anybody's  saying  so  much  as 
that  ? — '  in  heaven's  name '  V  " 

"Not  if  he  means  it." 

"  It  don't  mean  anything ! " 

"  I  object  to  people's  saying  anything  they  do 
not  mean,"  Stephen  answered  with  a  grave  smile. 
"  And  I  object — and  you  would  object — to  putting 
our  national  flag  down  under  your  feet  for  a  crumb 
cloth." 

The  tea  and  toast  were  done.  Stephen  removed 
the  little  tray,  laid  Bell  back  upon  his  pillows,  and 
sat  down.  The  small  room  was  in  a  perfection  of 
order;  the  fire  burned  and  breathed  quietly;  morn 
ing  sunbeams  made  a  great  splash  of  brightness 
upon  the  wall. 

"  Kay,  where  did  you  ever  learn  to  be  a  nurse, 
arid  such  a  nurse  V  " 

"  Don't  you  talk  too  much." 


584  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"No;  you  may  do  the  talking  now.  Have  you 
had  a  great  deal  of  practice?  You  must." 

"You  are  my  first  case,"  said  Stephen  lightly. 

"  I ! — Never  nursed  any  one  before  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  how,  in  the  name  of  witchcraft,  did  you 
know  how?  Because  you  are  capital,  you  know." 

"One  can  learn,  I  suppose,  more  ways  than  one. 
I  saw  some  time  ago,  at  a  bookstall,  a  little  book 
by  Florence  Nightingale — 'Notes  on  Nursing.'  I 
knew  her  name  was  famous,  and  her  authority  on 
that  subject  ought  to  be  good ;  so  I  bought  it,  for  a 
trifle,  and  then  I  studied  it.  The  whole  thing  is 
largely  a  matter  of  common  sense.  I  enjoyed  the 
book  very  much." 

"  And  enjoyed  taking  care  of  me,  didn't  you  ? 
It  would  be  just  like  you." 

"  I  enjoyed  it  very  much." 

"  Well,  so  did  I ! — after  I  got  where  I  could  en 
joy  anything;  indeed  I  did  before,  corne  to  think 
of  it.  Kay,  what  makes  you  so  different  from  other 
folks?" 

"  I  am  not  so  different.'' 

"  Aren't  you !  I  should  think  you  had  come  here 
from  another  planet,  if  that  were  all.  Do  you  know 
what  I  heard  of  you  ?  I  was  told  that  you  go  and 
teach  some  of  those  characters  in  the  jail;  have  a 
class  there,  in  fact." 

Stephen  made  no  reply  to  this. 

"  Is  it  true,  though  ?  " 

"Yes." 


A  SICK  NURSE.  585 

"  I  should  think  you'd  get  fond  of  your  pupils ! " 

"  I  do — of  some  of  them." 

"  Whatever,  in  all  the  world,  made  you  take  that 
up  ? — if  one  may  ask." 

"  I  used  to  have  such  a  class  at  the  country  town 
where  I  lived.  And  they  are  a  set  of  men  that 
very  few  people  care  for." 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  said  Bell.  "  After  it  has 
been  found  necessary  to  shut  them  up  under  bolts 
and  bars  lest  they  should  break  up  the  peace  of  so 
ciety  !  Do  you  pretend  that  you  care  for  these  mis 
creants  ?  " 

"  No.     I  do  not  pretend." 

"You  do  it!  Stephen,  that's  a  weakness  of 
yours !  " 

Stephen  smiled,  but  said  nothing  more. 

"  Such  wretches  ought  not  to  have  any  one  care 
for  them.  They  are  put  there  to  be  shut  up;  and 
you  go  and  make  a  good  time  for  them ! " 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  how  it  happens  that 
you  are  not  shut  up  there  among  them  yourself?" 

"  Myself!  You  do  me  honour.  No,  I  never  asked 
that  question." 

"  Ask  it  now  then,  and  give  the  answer." 

"The  answer  is  not  far  to  look  for,  I  should  say. 
I  come  of  a  respectable  family,  and  have  some  self- 
respect,  and  some  principle;  not  much,  but  enough 
to  keep  my  hands  out  of  other  people's  pockets." 

"  And  little  temptation  to  do  it,  perhaps." 

"  No,  no  temptation." 

"  Then  the  reason  you  are  not  in  jail,  or  on  your 


586  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

way  there,  is  because  you  were  born  in  one  street 
of  Boston  instead  of  another." 

"  Absurd ! " 

"  But  true." 

"Absurdity  is  never  true." 

"Nor  truth  absurd." 

"  But  Kay,  I  am  different;  different  radically." 

"Not  radically;  only  circumstantially.  Just  re 
verse  all  your  conditions;  let  a  man  have  no  prin 
ciples,  because  nobody  ever  told  him  the  truth ;  no 
self-respect,  because  he  had  grown  up  surrounded 
by  vicious  and  squalid  surroundings;  then  add  want 
and  distress;  and  the  temptation  to  share  in  some 
body  else's  more  than  enough,  lies  very  near  at 
hand." 

Bell  lay  still  for  a  while,  looking  at  Stephen,  who 
presently  was  deep  in  his  book.  Bell  broke  up  his 
abstraction  and  the  silence  together. 

"  Kay,  stop  your  studying  a  bit,  and  tell  me  some 
thing.  As  you  have  lost  so  many  days  now,  an  hour 
or  two  more  don't  signify." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Stephen  smiling.  "  What  do  you 
want  me  to  tell  you?  Your  reasoning  is  abomi 
nable." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Bell,  hesitating.  "  They  say, 
sickness  makes  people  selfish.  That  will  never  be 
known  in  my  case,  for  I  was  selfish  to  begin  with. 
Stephen — I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

"  Ask  it." 

"You  won't  mind?" 

"I  think  not.     What  is  it?" 


A  SICK  NURSE.  587 

"You  said  something  queer  a  while  ago.  You 
said — you  said  that  'he  whom  you  serve,'  told 
you  to  take  care  of  me  for  him.  What  did  you 
mean  ?" 

44  Just  that." 

"  But — "  Bell  hesitated  again. 

"  You  belong  to  him,  you  know,"  Stephen  went 
on,  eyeing  him  steadily." 

"  I  ? — 1  never  said  so." 

"  Makes  no  difference." 

"  But — yes,  it  does !  When  people  give  in  their 
consent  to  that  doctrine — what  they  call  making  a 
profession  of  religion, — then,  if  you  please,  they  be 
long  to  him ;  but  I  have  never  done  that." 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  said  Stephen  indiffer 
ently. 

"  What  makes  no  difference?" 

"  Whether  the  doctrine  has  your  consent  or  not. 
The  fact  remains  the  same." 

"What  fact?" 

"  That  you  belong  to  the  same  King  whom  I  serve. 
Your  being  a  rebel  does  not  hinder  your  being  a 
subject." 

"Without  my  consent?"  cried  Bell. 

"Wither  without." 

"Prove  it." 

"  I  have  no  need  to  prove  it.  You  know  it. 
Your  conscience  knows  it." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  said  Bell,  with  an 
uneasy  movement.  Stephen  made  no  answer; 
and  a  silence  ensued  which  lasted  for  some  time. 


588  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Stephen  was  again  apparently  absorbed  in  his 
studies. 

"  Stephen,  hold  on  a  bit,  and  listen  to  me,"  Bell 
called  from  his  bed.  "  All  the  religious  folk  I  ever 
saw  were  so  intolerably  stupid ! — no  fun,  you  know ; 
not  up  to  anything  jolly.  I  can't  seem  to  get  along 
with  them." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  about  it  ?  "  Stephen 
asked  calmly. 

"  Why ! — Do  ? — Tell  me  whose  fault  it  is,  mine 
or  theirs." 

"  Probably  both;  but  certainly  yours." 

"  But  they  are  so  stupid  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  you  find  them  so." 

"  You  are  not  stupid,  of  course;  I  do  not  mean 
you;  though  I  thought  you  were,  when  I  found  you 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  cards,  and  wouldn't 
drink  wine,  or  go  to  the  theatre." 

"  As  you  find  yourself  mistaken  in  my  case,  per 
haps  you  were  in  some  of  the  others  also." 

"  But  I  say,  Kay !  why  won't  you  do  those  things  ?  " 

Stephen  smiled.  "I  find  them  as  you  found 
me, — stupid." 

"Stupid!" 

"Yes." 

"Not  the  theatre?" 

"  I  have  never  tried  that." 

"  And  you  will  not  try  it.     Why  ?  " 

Stephen  laid  down  his  book  and  looked  at  his 
friend.  "  I  know  enough  of  it  to  keep  away  from 
it,"  he  said.  "  But  besides  that, — Bell,  I  have  what 


A  SICK  NURSE.  589 

is  so  much  better  than  all  these  things,  that  they 
have  no  charm  for  me." 

"  Books,  you  mean  ?  One  cannot  be  always  at 
books,  man." 

"  I  do  not  mean  books.  I  have  had  little  to  do 
with  books  till  I  came  to  Cambridge." 

"What  do  you  mean,  then?" 

Sephen  hesitated.  "  I  cannot  tell  you,"  he  said 
then.  "If  you  ever  come  into  the  service  of  the 
King,  you  will  know;  if  not,  nobody  can  explain  it 
to  you.  I  can  only  repeat  to  you  what  Christ  said 
to  the  woman  at  the  well — and  she  did  not  under 
stand  it, — 'Whosoever  drinketh  of  this  water  shall 
thirst  again ;  but  he  that  drinketh  of  the  water  that 
I  shall  give  him,  shall  never  thirst.' " 

Silence  set  in  again,  and  this  time  lasted  long. 
Stephen  was  soon  deep  in  his  books ;  and  Bell  stud 
ied  with  a  kind  of  envious  admiration  the  very 
placid,  manly  brow;  the  singular  repose,  which  in 
spite  of  its  energy  and  life  and  intentness  lay  upon 
the  face.  He  burst  out  at  last. 

"  Kay,  what  are  you  going  to  be  ?  " 

Stephen  lifted  up  his  face  and  looked  towards  his 
questioner,  having  but  partially  heard  him.  Bell 
repeated  his  question. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  autocratic.  You  are  to  stop 
talking,  and  stop  thinking;  and  go  to  sleep." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 
BUSINESS. 

fy 

THE  subject  however  was  brought  up  at  another 
time.  A  day  or  two  later  Bell  was  able  to 
leave  his  bed;  and  wrapped  in  his  dressing  gown 
and  seated  in  an  easy  chair  by  the  fire,  he  began 
to  taste  the  sweets  of  life  again.  Stephen  as  usual 
was  with  him ;  it  was  evening,  and  the  place  was 
savoury  with  the  smell  of  roasting  oysters.  Bell 
looked  on  at  the  preparations  with  the  languid 
content  of  a  convalescent,  who  has  nothing  to  do 
with  them  but  to  enjoy.  Then  suddenly  he  went 
back  to  his  unanswered  question  of  a  few  days 
before. 

"  Kay,  what  are  you  going  to  be  ?  " 

"  When?" 

"  By  and  by ;  after  you  graduate.  What  are  you 
aiming  at? — beyond  being  distinguished?" 

"I  am  not  aiming  at  that — unless  so  far  as  it 
may  be  a  means  to  an  end." 

"You  are  not  aiming  at  it!" 

"No;  except  as  I  said." 

"You    don't    care    about   being    distinguished, 

perhaps  ? " 
(590) 


BUSINESS.  591 

"  Except  in  so  far, — I  do  not  think  I  do.  Here's 
an  oyster  for  you.  Take  some  bread  and  butter 
with  it." 

"  Thanks !  Well,  you  are  distinguished,  and  you 
are  going  to  be  distinguished;  and  I'm  glad  of  it, 
for  one.  You'll  come  out  ahead  of  us  all,  as  sure 
as  guns;  but  what  I  mean  is,  what  are  you  going 
to  be  after?" 

"  I  have  not  found  out  yet." 

"  Don't  know  yet  I  What  do  you  want  to  be,  then  ? 
that's  only  another  form  of  the  same  question." 

"  I  do  not  know.  Here's  another  oyster,  Bell — 
just  right." 

Bell  swallowed  the  oyster,  but  returned  to  the 
charge. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  where  you  would  distin 
guish  yourself  most; — studying  that  subject  and 
you,  while  I  lay  watching  you,  these  days  and 
nights.  I  can't  make  up  my  mind.  I  don't  some 
how  want  to  give  you  up  to  be  a  clergyman." 

"  I  have  no  call  to  be  a  clergyman." 

"Haven't  you?  I'm  sort  o'  glad  of  it!  Will 
you  be  a  lawyer,  Stephen  ?  That  aint  your  line,  I 
should  say." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  believe  you  are  too  good 
for  it." 

"There  must  be  a  mistake  somewhere  in  your 
mind,  I  should  say.  That  judgment  proceeds  upon 
a  misapprehension,  either  of  me,  or  of  a  lawyer's 
business." 


592  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  His  business  is  quarrelling." 
"To  put  a  stop  to  quarrels,  rather  say." 
"How  would  the  lawyer  live,  old  fellow?" 
"There  will  be  enough  for  him  to  do  yet  for 
some  time  to  come,  in  righting  the  wrong." 
"Righting  the  wrong!" 

"  Yes.  '  Open  thy  mouth,  judge  righteously,  and 
plead  the  cause  of  the  poor  and  needy.'  That's  his 
business." 

"  I  believe  you  would  do  for  a  judge,"  said  Bell 
meditatively. 
"Thank  you." 

"  Then  you  will  be  a  lawyer,  Stephen  ?  " 
"  No,"  said  the  other  slowly.     "  I  think  not." 
"  What  then  ?     What  do  you  want  to  be  ?     Is  it 
wealth  or  fame  you  are  steering  for  ?  " 
"  Neither,  I  think." 

"In  the  name  of — well,  in  the  name  of  every 
thing  reasonable,  what  then?  You  are  not  the 
sort  of  fellow  to  work  aimlessly.  Not  if  I  know 
you !  But  don't  tell  me  if  you  don't  want  to  !  "  he 
said,  as  he  perceived  that  Stephen  hesitated.  "  Of 
course,  as  a  friend,  I  would  like  to  know;  but  I  do 
not  want  to  make  myself  a  nuisance." 

"  No  danger  of  that,"  Stephen  said  pleasantly. 
But  he  attended  to  Bell's  wants  yet  for  a  minute 
or  two;  pouring  out  some  more  tea  for  him,  and 
giving  him  another  oyster,  and  establishing  two  or 
three  more  fat  bivalves  on  the  coals  where  they 
would  lie  safely  and  not  spill  all  their  juice.  Then 
he  sat  down  and  answered. 


BUSINESS.  593 

"Bell,  I  have  not  troubled  myself  much  about 
this  question,  because  I  knew  I  should  find  it;  the 
solution,  I  mean.  I  want  to  take  the  line  of  life  in 
which  I  can  best  serve  God  and  do  most  work  for 
the  world.  That  is  all  I  care  for." 

"You  would  do  that  in  any  line  of  life,  old 
fellow." 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so.  But  it  is  a  great  thing  for  a 
man  to  find  his  niche." 

"How  is  he  to  find  it?" 

"  Let  God,  who  made  him  for  it,  put  him  in  it." 

"Yes,  but  how?  how?  You  are  talking  the 
most  extraordinary  enigmas;  once  I  should  have 
said,  nonsense;  but  I  know  you  better  now.  The 
nonsense  is  in  my  stupid  head,  I  suppose." 

"Not  nonsense,  but  want  of  knowledge.  It  is 
very  simple,  practical,  matter  of  fact  that  1  am 
speaking.  Every  man  is  fitted  and  put  here  for 
some  special,  particular  work ;  and  in  that  work  he 
will  do  more  and  do  better,  and  his  life  will  amount 
to  more,  than  in  any  other  way  it  possibly  could." 

"Excuse  me,  but  how  do  you  make  it  out?  I 
should  certainly  say  many  people — most  people — 
are  fit  for  nothing  in  particular." 

"  That  is  because  they  have  unfitted  themselves." 

"And  they  were  intended,  all  of  them,  for  a 
particular  place  and  work  ?  Seriously  ?  " 

"  Seriously,  what  would  you  think  of  a  machin 
ist  who  put  in  his  machine  here  a  lever  and  there 
a  pin  to  do  nothing  at  all?  or  a  wheel  merely 
meant  to  turn  round  ?  " 


594  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

Bell  looked  at  his  friend  with  a  quizzical  face. 
"  Do  you  call  this  world  a  machine  ?  " 

"No;  but  you  may  liken  it  to  a  very  compli 
cated  one." 

"  And  we  are  levers  and  pins  ?  " 

"Ought  to  be  filling  our  places  accordingly; 
since,  as  you  know,  the  work  is  not  interchange 
able." 

"  Stephen,  what  is  the  work  you  talk  about  ?  I 
do  not  see.  I  do  not  see  any  special  work  to  be 
done,  except  by  a  philanthropist  here  and  there. 
You  aren't  going  to  turn  philanthropist,  are  you  ?  " 

"What  is  a  philanthropist?  " 

"Somebody  with  a  crotchet  in  his  head,  who 
walks  round  the  world  putting  everybody  else  in 
the  wrong." 

"  Will  you  have  any  more  oysters  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you  !  not  this  time.  You  are  going 
to  put  me  off  with  that  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Stephen  smiling.  "  But  I  cannot  tell 
you  what  I  do  not  know  myself.  Paul  said  he  was 
an  apostle  'by  the  will  of  God;'  and  whatever  I 
may  be,  it  shall  be  by  the  same  will.  I  am  the 
Lord's  servant;  what  he  wants  me  to  do,  I  will  do, 
and  he  will  shew  me  what  that  is." 

"  But  Stephen,  everything  in  this  world  is  not  for 
duty  ?  Don't  you  allow  some  little  chink  or  cranny 
where  pleasure  comes  in  ?  " 

Stephen  smiled,  a  smile  that  astonished  his  friend, 
and  almost  silenced  him.  "  I  have  no  greater  pleas 
ure  than  to  do  the  will  of  God,"  he  said.  "See, 


BUSINESS.  595 

Charles,  yon  do  not  understand  it,  because  you  do 
not  know  him;  but  I  know  him.  He  has  redeemed 
me,  and  forgiven  me,  and  adopted  me;  he  has  made 
me  inexpressibly  happy  with  his  presence;  I  am 
not  living  without  pleasure,  I  am  full  of  it;  and 
the  only  thing  I  wish  for  further  in  this  world  is 
to  do  what  work  my  Lord  has  for  me  to  do,  and  so 
please  him." 

"You  are  happy?"  said  Bell,  looking  at  him. 

"  Perfectly  happy,  except  for  what  I  see  around 
me." 

"  And  have  not  a  wish  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  Not  a  wish,  except  what  I  stated.  And  I  should 
add,  the  desire  to  help  other  people,  less  happy." 

"That  pretty  much  sweeps  the  horizon,"  said 
Bell. 

Stephen  said  no  more.  His  genius  was  never  in 
talking,  as  we  know;  although  with  a  single  friend 
he  had  no  want  of  words  or  lack  of  frankness.  Bell 
meditated  and  mused.  And  studied  Stephen. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  are  going  to 
set  about  helping  all  those  other  people.  Nursing 
them  when  they  are  sick,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  If  it  comes  in  my  way." 

"Ridiculous!"  exclaimed  Bell.  "You  degener 
ating  into  a  sick  nurse  !  " 

"  Have  I  come  down  so  much  in  your  estimation  ?  " 

"  Not  for  once  in  a  way !  but  if  you  gave  your 
self  up  to  the  care  of  other  people.  Stephen,  you 
never  thought  of  being  a  doctor,  did  you?" 

"Not  until  lately.     Two  or  three  times  within 


596  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

the  last  days,  when  the  doctor  was  here  to  see  you, 
a  thought  crossed  my  mind  that  his  profession  gave 
him  great  opportunities." 

" Of  what?" 

"  Doing  the  work  I  want  to  do." 

"Don't!"  said  Bell  earnestly.  "It's  a  beastly 
life — always  up  and  down.  No  rest,  —  and  no 
glory." 

"  I  have  told  you,  I  do  not  care  for  the  glory." 

"  But  you  do !  everybody  must.  It  is  not  nat 
ural,  not  to  care.  You  are  honest,  of  course,  but 
you  are  mistaken.  Stephen,  you  must  care  about 
being  distinguished.  Don't  say  you  don't !  " 

"  I  do  not  say  I  don't,"  Stephen  answered  slowly, 
"  but  it  is  a  different  sort  from  that  you  are  talking 
about.  I  want  the  honour  that  comes  from  God; 
and  in  comparison  with  that,  the  praise  of  men  is 
such  a  small  thing  that  I  can't  see  it." 

"  You  can  have  both." 

"  I  cannot  seek  both." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"They  are  of  such  diametrically  different  nature, 
and  bestowed  upon  such  different  principles.  In 
the  nature  of  things,  a  man  cannot  be  striving  for 
both  at  once.  'That  which  is  highly  esteemed 
among  men  is  abomination  in  the  sight  of  God.'" 

«Is  it?— What?"  asked  Bell  in  a  bewildered 
kind  of  way.  "  Instance.  I  cannot  imagine  what 
you  mean.  You  are  going  in  for  honours  yourself, 
here  at  Harvard." 

"No — excuse  me — I  am  not;  except  as  they  may 


BUSINESS.  597 

further  that  service  of  which  I  spoke  to  you  a  little 
while  ago." 

"Don't  you  want  to  have  father  and  mother 
proud  of  you  ?  " 

"I  have  neither." 

"Nor  brothers  and  sisters?  Nobody?"  asked 
Bell  with  a  gentler  tone  of  voice.  Stephen  was 
silent  a  moment. 

"  I  have  a  sister,"  he  said.  "  I  would  like  her  to 
think  well  of  me  and  hear  good  of  me ;  but  that  is 
not  pride,  I  think.  At  least  I  hope  not." 

"Well,  why  can't  you  have  men's  praise  and 
heaven's  praise  too ?  What's  to  hinder? " 

"  It  is  possible,  no  doubt,  to  have  both.  The  im 
possible  thing  is,  to  seek  distinction  at  the  same 
time  from  two  opposite  and  opposing  powers." 

"What  powers?" 

"  Christ  and  the  world.  He  said, — '  How  can 
ye  believe,  which  receive  honour  one  of  another, 
and  seek  not  the  honour  that  cometh  from  God 
only?" 

"  I  didn't  know  that  was  in  the  Bible." 

"I  am  afraid  there  are  other  things  there  that 
you  don't  know." 

"  Still,  I  don't  see  why  one  cannot  be  .a  candidate 
for  earthly  and  heavenly  honours  at  once." 

"  Because  one  cannot  be  looking  in  two  opposite 
directions  at  once." 

"  Opposite  directions !  " 

"  Certainly.  The  Lord's  favour  is  given  in  ac 
cordance  with  his  commands.  Do  you  know  what 


598  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

his  commands  to  his  people  are? — 'Heal  the  sick, 
cleanse  the  lepers,  raise  the  dead,  cast  out  devils; 
freely  ye  have  received,  freely  give.' " 

"  Do  you  take  that  literally  ?  " 

"  How  else  ?  " 

"  But  nobody  else  does ;  not  Christians,  I  mean." 

"Then  they  are  not  oiling  orders." 

" But  Stephen,  they  cant." 

"  Can't  what  ?  " 

"  Everybody  cannot  give  up  his  life  to  that  sort 
of  thing,  you  know." 

"Why  not?" 

"  It  would  be  tantamount  to  giving  up  everything 
else,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"Why! — You  ask  'what  then?'  as  coolly  as  if 
people  had  nothing  else  in  the  world  to  do." 

"  What  else  have  they  to  do  ?  " 

Bell  was  silent  now,  and  Stephen  presently  went  on. 

*'  They  have  other  things  to  do,  but  in  order  to 
the  best  and  most  effective  doing  of  that  one  thing. 
As  I  am  giving  so  many  years  to  study  here,  and 
then  perhaps  so  many  more  to  study  somewhere 
else.  All  in  order  to  the  doing  of  my  work." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask,  if  you  regard  this 
very  stringent  rule  as  binding  everybody  alike?" 

"I  will  allow  you  to  ask  me  what  you  please. 
As  to  the  question,  surely  you  know  there  are  not 
two  rules." 

"  Stephen,  I  never  heard  anybody  talk  as  you  do, 
and  I  never  saw  anybody  in  the  least  like  you  in 


BUSINESS.  599 

any  way,  in  all  my  life.  If  you  are  right,  then  the 
whole  world  is  wrong.  Is  that  likely  ?  " 

Stephen  put  on  rather  a  quizzical  smile,  as  he 
replied  that  the  Bible  so  represented  it. 

"Well,  but,—" 

Bell  got  no  further.  He  sat  still  looking  at  his 
friend,  who  with  the  neatness  and  quietness  pecu 
liar  to  him  was  putting  away  dishes,  brushing  up 
crumbs,  making  the  little  table  nice,  and  setting 
the  lamp  right,  and  then  making  up  the  fire.  Then 
as  he  took  his  chair  again,  his  eyes  met  Bell's  ob 
servant  and  somewhat  doubtful  ones.  He  smiled 
at  him. 

"  It  is  good  service,  Charley !  " 

"Yours,  you  mean." 

"  It  is  joy  enough  all  the  while,  to  serve  such  a 
Master.  But  besides  that,  it  is  free  and  happy — 
yes,  and  dignified, — to  step  out  from  all  the  en 
tanglements  this  world  spreads  for  our  feet,  and 
set  them  upon  the  way  that  leads  to  everlasting 
life.  The  footing  is  good,  and  the  outlook  is  clear; 
our  fellow  servants  are  the  angels;  and  we  in  our 
measure  are  doing  the  same  work  as  they.  The 
special  work  of  each  one  is  given  by  the  King,  and 
the  King  himself  will  take  it  at  our  hands,  one  day, 
if  we  are  faithful,  with  a  '  Well  done '  from  his  own 
mouth.  And  the  work  itself  is  blessed  enough  in 
the  doing,  if  there  were  no  Lord  over  us  or  heaven 
ahead  of  us;  though,  as  I  said,  the  best  of  it  is  that 
it  is  done  for  him." 

Bell  looked  earnestly  at  his  friend,  who  at  the 


600  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

moment  so  overstepped  the  usual  staid  measure  of 
his  speech. 

"Then,  what  would  you  do,  if  everybody  were 
like  you,  with  all  the  various  trades  and  profes 
sions  in  the  world?" 

"Carry  them  on,  all  the  useful  ones;  but  every 
one  'in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus.'  Don't  you 
know  that  we  are  forbidden  to  do  anything  in  any 
other  way  ?  " 

"  How  about  making  money  ?  " 

"The  same  thing." 

"  I  am  not  clear,  but  you  ought  to  be  a  parson 
after  all,  Kay." 

"  If  I  ought,  I  have  not  yet  discovered  it." 

"  What  will  you  be  ?  You  won't  go  into 
business  ?  " 

"No." 

"No,  you  would  not  like  that.  You  behind  a 
counting  house  desk !  you  would  be  like  a  bird  of 
Paradise  with  its  wings  clipped,  turned  into  a  gar 
den  with  a  flock  of  ducks  to  keep  the  worms  off. 
Stephen,  will  you  be  a  doctor?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  lately." 

"It's  hard  work  and  no  fame — for  the  most  part; 
but  that's  your  sort." 

"There  are  great  opportunities  in  the  profes 
sion,"  Stephen  went  on  musingly.  "I  think,  hard 
ly  greater  in  any." 

"  Then,  I'll  tell  you  a  thing,  old  boy.  I've  got 
an  uncle.  And  the  uncle  is — Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Dr.  Bell,  of  Boston." 


BUSINESS.  601 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  this  pai\t  of  the  world,  you 
know." 

"  So  of  course  you  don't  know  him.  Well,  there 
he  is;  and  he  is  Doctor  Bell;  and  old  in  the  pro 
fession,  arid  men  say,  distinguished; — but  that  you 
don't  care  for  ?  " 

"  I  care  for  it  very  much." 

"  I  thought  you  didn't !  " 

"As  a  means  to  an  end, — not  as  an  end,"  Stephen 
added  smiling. 

"  0 ! — You'll  be  logical,  whatever  else  you  are. 
Well,  there  is  my  uncle!  I'll  bet  a  cent,  what 
you'll  do  will  be,  to  study  with  him." 

"•  What  makes  you  think  he  would  take  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  would." 

Stephen  did  not  pursue  the  question,  and  Bell 
also  let  it  drop  for  the  time.  But  he  contrived 
within  a  week  or  two  to  get  his  uncle  out  to  Cam 
bridge.  He  brought  him  and  Stephen  together, 
and  led  straight  to  the  subject  which  had  been 
under  discussion  between  himself  and  his  friend. 
The  old  man  and  the  young  man  liked  each  other 
from  the  first.  Dr.  Bell  wanted  an  assistant;  and 
the  end  was,  after  a  little  while  and  several  inter 
views,  that  the  matter  was  decided.  As  soon  as 
Stephen  had  taken  his  degree  he  should  enter  Dr. 
Bell's  house  and  business. 


CHAPTER   L. 
BUILDING. 

SO  the  question  of  Stephen's  life  work  was  de 
cided.  He  said  nothing  about  it  for  the  pres 
ent;  went  on  with  his  studies  steadily,  adding  to 
them  now  one  or  two  new  branches.  By  degrees 
also  he  grew  in  the  liking  of  his  fellow  students, 
who  even  became  proud  of  him  in  a  way ;  however, 
Stephen  was  pursuing  great  objects  too  closely  to 
have  much  leisure  for  the  scattering,  rollicking, 
careless  society  around  him ;  in  which  he  mingled 
only  just  so  much  as  he  could  without  giving  up 
any  of  his  principles.  Bat  if  you  can  stand  with 
out  other  people's  help,  and  against  their  pressure, 
they  will  always  respect  you  for  so  much ;  and  Ste 
phen  Kay  was  thoroughly  respected  at  Cambridge. 
He  graduated,  "  top  of  everything,"  as  Bell  exult 
antly  expressed  it;  and  then  immediately  entered 
the  old  doctor's  house  and  service  in  Boston. 

It  was  not  till  a  few  days  later,  that  Mr.  Harden- 

brook  came  in  to  supper  one  night  with  Stephen's 

letter  in  his  pocket  and  an  excited  look  on  his  face. 

*'  Wife,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hardenbrook  fret- 

(602) 


BUILDING.  603 

fully;  "there  is  no  news  in  this  corner  of  the 
world.  I  get  tired  of  my  existence  sometirQ.es. 
What  is  it,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  ?  You  look  as  if  it 
Was  something." 

"It  is  something.  Stephen  is  going  to  be  a 
doctor." 

"A  what?"  asked  the  lady  with  strong  em 
phasis. 

44  A  doctor." 

41  What  sort  of  a  doctor  ?  " 

44  Why  a  regular  doctor;  a  sick  doctor;  a 
physician." 

4<  He  isn't!"— 

44 1  have  a  letter  from  him  here.  He  is  gone 
into  Boston,  and  is  studying  with  a  Dr.  Bell — " 

"Dr.  Bell  of  .Boston?1' 

44  That  is  what  I  just  told  you.  I  don't  know 
who  Dr.  Bell  is." 

44 1  do  1  Dr.  Bell  of  Boston  !  Don't  you  remem 
ber  Posie  speaking  of  him  ?  0  he  is  famous.  I 
don't  think  it  can  be  that  Dr.  Bell.  It  must  be 
some  other.  That  was  Dr.  James  Bell." 

"Dr.  James  Bell  it  is." 

41  Dr.  James  Bell!  He  is  studying  with  him! — 
Well,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  that  is  what  you  get  for 
picking  up  other  people's  waifs  and  strays ! " 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook 
soberly.  4<But  this  fixes  one  thing;  Stephen  will 
come  back  here  no  more,  to  live  at  Cowslip." 

41  Did  you  think  he  ever  would?"  said  the  lady 
with  infinite  scorn.  "  He's  got  above  that!  Mak- 


604  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

ing  tables  and  chairs  isn't  good  enough  work  for 
him.  And  after  all  your  kindness  to  him  ! — and 
mine  ! — But  that's  the  way  of  the  world.  Stephen 
a  doctor !  I  wonder  who  would  trust  him  to  cure 
a  cat!" 

"Anybody  that  knows  him.  Stephen  always  did 
everything  well  that  ever  he  undertook.  He's  gone 
through  Harvard  famously;  and  now  it'll  be  just 
the  same  in  Boston.  That  little  fellow  I  picked  up 
one  day  in  Deepford !  " — 

"Yes,  and  that  we  treated  just  like  one  of  our 
selves  !  " — Mrs.  Hardenbrook  by  this  time  was  cry 
ing  and  apparently  very  miserable.  "  And  this  is 
all  the  thanks  we  get!  I  always  told  you,"  she 
said,  pulling  down  her  handkerchief  from  before 
her  face,  "I  always  told  you,  Mr.  Harderibrook, 
you  were  a  fool  to  be  so  good-natured.  Every 
body  dupes  you.  Now  you  and  I  are  left  here  to 
ourselves,  just  when  we  want  somebody  !  " 

"You  might  as  well  say  that  Posie  has  duped 
us,"  he  answered.  But  he  sighed  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  do  hate  uppish  people ! "  said  Mrs.  Harden- 
brook,  pulling  d.own  her  handkerchief  again  and 
shewing  a  flushed  face. 

"Stephen  isn't  uppish,"  returned  her  husband, 
"but  he'll  be  'up,'  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

And  so  it  was.  In  due  time  Stephen  fulfilled  his 
course  and  came  to  be  a  physician  in  his  own  right; 
and  then,  in  much  less  than  was  reckoned  due  time, 
he  got  into  practice.  It  is  true,  Dr.  Bell  had  been 
very  fond  of  him,  and  had  put  every  advantage  in 


BUILDING.  605 

his  way;  all  that  the  old  doctor  could  do  for  the 
success  of  the  young  one,  he  did;  but  he  had  warned 
him  at  the  same  time,  and  repeatedly,  that  he  must 
not  expect  to  jump  into  notice  or  favour;  that  a  har 
vest  of  the  kind  he  wanted  could  only  be  gathered, 
if  at  all,  after  a  long  time  of  sowing  the  right  kind 
of  seed.  That  Stephen  would  attain  it  he  never 
doubted;  he  tried  to  impress  upon  him  that  it  could 
not  be  at  once. 

But  contrary  to  all  usage  and  expectation,  Dr. 
Kay  presently  became  the  fashion,  and  then  the 
rage.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  known  as  a  pupil 
and  great  favourite  of  the  old  doctor,  whose  word 
in  Boston  went  a  great  way.  In  the  second  place, 
if  I  should  not  rather  put  it  first,  Stephen  had  a 
way  of  speedily  capturing  people's  confidence  and 
liking  by  his  manners  and  appearance.  And  this 
effect  was  increased,  not  diminished,  by  the  fact 
that  he  did  not  sue  for  it  and  was  careless  about  it. 
The  years  of  study  and  new  associations  in  Cam 
bridge  and  Boston  had  changed  Stephen's  exterior 
in  some  essential  respects.  It  was  remarkable,  how 
quick  he  cast  the  slough  of  his  country  life  and  nar 
row  upbringing;  how  soon,  as  his  mind  got  free 
from  its  disabilities  and  hemmed-in  sphere,  his  man- 
ner  and  his  very  looks  shared  in  the  emancipation, 
and  became  easy,  free,  confident,  and  graceful. 
Not  confident  in  the  way  of  boldness  or  assump 
tion,  be  it  well  understood;  but  only  of  contented 
and  quiet  self-poise.  Nobody  could  be  more  mod 
est  than  Stephen;  the  old  doctor  even  sometimes 


606  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

declared  that  he  had  not  self-assertion  enough.  But 
at  the  core  of  his  gracefulness  was  the  iact  that  he 
was  not  "  seeking  his  own,"  and  never  thought  of 
it.  So  his  manly,  grave,  gentle,  steadfast  manner 
was  perfect  in  its  way,  arid  never  failed  to  win  him 
favour.  Another  thing  that  told  for  him  was  his 
habitual  self-command.  Let  a  man  govern  him 
self,  and  he  is  very  near  governing  other  men. 
And  it  was  a  fact,  that  all,  Dr.  Kay's  patients  were 
his  subjects.  It  was  a  conquest  unknown  to  the 
conqueror,  and  that  would  have  given  him  no 
pleasure;  except,  as  he  himself  would  have  said, 
"in  the  way  of  business."  He  was  far  too  wise  to 
despise  influence,  however  obtained,  for  he  knew 
influence  is  power. 

His  face,  as  I  hinted  before,  was  no  doubt  another 
means  of  influence,  profoundly  unknown  as  the  fact 
was  to  Dr.  Kay  himself.  It  was  a  remarkable  face, 
as  indeed  a  man  with  Stephen's  mental  life-history 
could  hardly  fail  to  have.  It  was  well  featured, 
though  you  may  see  many  a  more  pictorially  hand 
some  man.  Stephen's  face  had  another  sort  of 
beauty.  A  singularly  wise,  grave,  penetrating, 
and  gentle  eye;  a  pure  calm  brow;  and  a  mouth 
the  lines  of  which  spoke  strength  and  sweetness  in 
almost  equal  proportions.  They  attracted  people 
infallibly.  Old  Dr.  Bell  had  complained  at  one 
time  that  Stephen  did  not  go  enough  among  peo 
ple;  he  seemed  to  shun  society;  it  was  not  good 
policy,  he  declared,  for  people  like  you  better  after 
you  have  eaten  dinner  with  them  a  few  times,  other 


BUILDING.  607 

things  being  as  they  should  be.  Stephen  had  ac 
cepted  an  invitation  to  one  stately  dinner;  and 
never  would  accept  another.  He  "had  not  time," 
he  said,  in  answer  to  the  urgencies  of  both  the 
Bells,  young  and  old.  And  Society  in  consequence 
saw  little  of  him.  He  shewed  a  lamentable  indif 
ference  to  ladies'  society,  in  particular. 

All  this  however  hurt  nothing  of  his  acceptance 
as  a  physician.  It  rather  wrought  to  the  advan 
tage  of  it.  When  young  ladies  found  they  could 
not  make  a  fool  of  him,  and  old  ladies  discovered 
it  was  not  in  their  power  to  impose  upon  him, — 
and  both  classes  tried  their  hands  at  the  new  doc 
tor, — it  followed  of  course  that  the  respect  of  both 
classes  for  him  grew  and  mounted  high  and  high 
er.  With  all  kindly  deference  toward  those  older 
than  himself,  and  with  all  delicate  courtesy  tow 
ards  younger  people,  Dr.  Kay  remained  indepen 
dent,  unapproachable,  and  unmanageable.  But 
then  he  was  so  kind !  In  his  professional  visits 
he  was  so  considerate  !  He  was  never  in  a  hurry ; 
always  took  abundant  time  to  study  his  patient 
and  his  patient's  condition;  grave,  thoughtful,  res 
olute,  but  tender  and  gentle  wherever  there  was 
call  for  either  quality;  and  in  sickness  where  is 
there  not?  In  all  these  things  Dr.  Kay  proved 
himself  unlike  many  of  his  brethren  in  the  pro 
fession  ;  he  was  voted  an  oddity ;  and  that  increased 
the  interest  with  which  he  was  regarded.  Another 
item  marked  him  out  equally  from  his  fellows;  his 
absolute  truth. 


608  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"My  dear,  he  will  tell  you  exactly  what  he 
thinks !  "  was  the  eulogium  pronounced  upon  him 
by  one  lady  to  another. 

"Always?"  answered  the  second,  disapprovingly. 

"Always?  No,  of  course  not.  0  he  can  hold 
his  tongue,  Dr.  Kay  can ;  and  if  he  chooses  to  hold 
his  tongue,  you  can't  make  him  speak;  but  if  he 
speaks,  he  tells  you  the  very  truth." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  tried  him.  I  asked  him  ques 
tions  he  would  not  answer;  and  he  would  not  give 
a  deceiving  turn  to  his  words.  He  just  would  not 
tell  me  what  I  wanted  to  know." 

"  Rude ! " 

"Never  rude.  Whether  he  speaks  or  not,  he  is 
never  rude.  You  cannot  make  him  say  anything 
he  does  not  choose;  but  he  is  never  the  least  parti 
cle  rude.  He  is  silent  in  the  nicest  way." 

"Skilful?" 

"0  my  dear,  Jae  is  very  skilful!  There  seems 
to  be  a  kind  of  charm  about  his  touch  of  a  case. 
I  have  heard  so  many  instances.  There  is  only 
one  thing  I  don't  like.  I  have  never  seen  any 
thing  of  it  myself;  but  they  say,  that  he  is  terribly 
religious." 

"  Religious !— How  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how.  I  have  not  seen  or  heard 
anything  of  it;  but  I  suppose  it  is  true.  They  say, 
he  will  tell  people  they  are  going  to  die,  and  ask 
them  if  they  are  ready  !  " 

"When  they  are  not  going  to  die ? " 


BUILDING.  609 

"No,  no,  when  they  are-,  or  when  he  thinks 
they  are.  Rich  or  poor,  they  say,  it  makes  no 
difference." 

"  Why  should  it  make  any  difference?" 

"  0,  my  dear !  you  naturally  suppose  that  people 
who  have  been  educated  and  who  have  gone  to 
church  all  their  lives,  are  able  to  manage  their 
own  affairs.  And  besides,  that  is  not  the  doctor's 
province,  at  any  rate." 

"  Can  he  help  them,  if  they  say  they  are  not 
ready  to  die  ?  " 

"Who?  Dr.  Kay?  I  don't  know.  I  should 
say,  from  what  I  know  of  him,  it  was  not  like  him 
to  meddle  with  anything  he  does  not  understand; 
but  I  wish  he'd  let  religion  alone.  That's  another 
odd  thing  of  him;  do  you  know,  if  he  don't  under 
stand  a  case,  he'll  come  out  and  say  so?" 

"  Say  he  don't  understand  it?" 

"  Just  that;  confess  his  ignorance,  squarely.  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  like  that?  I  know  of  an 
instance.  He  was  called  to  a  cousin  of  mine,  Ed 
ward  Taxhall;  he  studied  him  awhile,  said  he  did 
not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  and  my 
dear,  he  would  give  him  nothing  !  " 

"  What  became  of  the  sick  man  ?" 

"  0  he  could  not  stand  that,  you  know ;  men  are 
always  so  impatient  when  they  are  sick;  he 
wouldn't  lie  there  and  do  nothing;  so  he  called  in 
Dr.  Fawcett." 

"  Did  Dr.  Fawcett  cure  him  ?  " 

"  No.     Nobody  cured  him.     He  died." 


610  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

"  Perhaps  Dr.  Fawcett  killed  him." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that;  but  I  think 
Dr.  Kay  carries  truth  too  far.  You  see,  there  was 
a  case,  where  he  lost  a  patient." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  think  the  other  man  lost  him." 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean.  I  think  it  is 
possible  in  this  world  to  carry  frankness  too  far." 

"I'll  send  for  Dr.  Kay  the  next  time  I  want  any 
thing,  and  have  a  look  at  him." 

"  That  won't  hurt  you.  He's  uncommonly  nice 
to  look  at." 

So  it  went  on,  and  Dr.  Kay's  popularity  grew  and 
nourished  and  seemed  to  know  no  check.  For 
though  it  is  no  doubt  true  that  some  people  are 
afraid  of  the  truth,  it  underlies  as  little  doubt  that 
a  much  larger  proportion  are  afraid  of  falsehood. 
And  a  man  whose  word  can  be  entirely  depended 
on,  comes  to  be  regarded,  even  in  this  perverted 
world,  as  a  rock  of  strength  and  a  jewel  of 
preciousness. 

But  in  one  or  two  other  respects  Stephen  still 
gave  his  friends  anxiety,  those  friends  at  least 
who  stood  near  enough  to  him  to  know  and  to  care 
anything  about  it.  These  were  old  Dr.  Bell  and 
his  nephew,  who  by  this  time  had  gone  through 
his  studies  for  the  profession  of  the  law  and  was  a 
young  barrister  in  Boston  waiting  for  retaining 
fees. 

"  Stephen,"  said  the  latter  one  day,  "  why  don't 
you  set  up  a  horse  and  gig,  or  a  curricle,  or  some 
thing  of  that  kind  ?  " 


BUILDING.  611 

"  Can't  afford  it  just  now." 

"Can't  afford  it?  Why  money  is  coming  in 
upon  you  like  the  tides  of  the  sea.  What  do  you 
mean,  man?" 

Stephen  did  not  immediately  answer.  He  was 
writing  something  at  a  table. 

"You  really  ought  to  do  something  of  the  kind," 
his  friend  repeated.  "Your  practice  is  getting  to 
oe  very  large ;  what  a  run  you  have  made  of  it,  to 
oe  sure ! — while  I  am  sitting  most  of  the  time  with 
my  hands  in  my  pockets,  and  nothing  else  there. 
You  must  find  it  very  inconvenient  to  be  going 
about  so  everywhere  on  foot,  in  all  weathers." 

"  There  are  always  cabs." 

"Which  would  serve  you  about  one  time  in  a 
dozen.  Stephen,  you  have  plenty  of  money." 

"  Not  for  that,  at  present." 

"For  what  then?  What  are  you  laying  up 
for?" 

"  I  am  not  laying  up  just  yet." 

"Not?  Then  where  does  the  money  go?  I  beg 
your  pardon,  old  boy;  but  really,  I  should  like  to 
know  what's  in  your  head." 

"Something  on  my  hands." 

"  What  ? — if  you  have  no  objection  to  tell  me." 

"  I  should  object  to  tell  you,  only  that  sooner  or 
later  you  would  have  to  know.  I  am  building." 

"Building!" 

"  In  a  small  way." 

"What  for?  Stephen!  are  you  making  a  home 
for  yourself?"  exclaimed  his  friend,  jumping  up  in 


614  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

expect  to  give  all  this  ?  out  of  your  own  pocket,  and 
with  no  return?" 

"  How  else  shall  I  do  it  ?  " 

"  Make  the  patients  pay  a  bit." 

"They  are  not  able,  most  of  them." 

"  Take  up  a  contribution !  " 

"  The  people  that  give  money  expect  to  have  a 
word  to  say  about  the  spending  of  it.  No,  thank 
you." 

"  You  can't  do  it  alone  !  " 

"I  will  do  no  more  than  I  can,"  replied  Stephen 
amusedly.  "  I  promise  you  I'll  not  run  in  debt." 

"But,  old  fellow, — why  this  is  dreadful!  You 
will  never  grow  rich  in  this  way." 

"  What  is  it  to  be  rich  ?  Is  it  to  have  money 
merely,  or  to  use  it  for  what  one  likes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  if  you  use  it  up  as  fast  as  you  get  it 
— you'll  never  be  a  rich  man." 

"  You  forget  whose  servant  I  am,  Charley." 

"But  Stephen,  does  that  service  oblige  you  to 
keep  nothing  for  yourself?  " 

"  Of  my  Master's  money  ?     It  is  not  mine." 

"  Why  isn't  it  yours  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,  because  1  am  not  my  own.  Don't 
you  know,  a  Christian  does  not  belong  to  him 
self?" 

"  In  what  sense  do  you  mean  that?" 

"In  a  very  literal  sense.  Nothing  can  be  more 
literal.  *  Ye  are  not  your  own.  Ye  are  bought  with 
a  price:  therefore  glorify  God  in  your  body,  and  in 
your  spirit,  which  are  God V" 


BUILDING.  615 

"Stephen,  nobody  takes  such  words  so  closely 
as  you  do.  Nobody  does !  " 

"Paul  did,  anyhow;  for  he  styled  himself  the 
bond-slave  of  Jesus  Christ.  It  is  the  word  the 
Bible  always  uses  for  the  relation.  The  English 
word  '  servant '  does  not  express  it." 

Bell  was  silent,  and  vexed. 

"You  think  I  am  a  loser  thereby?"  his  friend 
went  on,  looking  at  him  with  a  smile  of  wonderful 
beauty.  "You  are  mistaken.  I  shall  never  be 
anything  but  a  rich  man,  Charley.  I  am  growing 
richer  every  day.  For  to  any  man  of  whom  you 
can  say,  he  is  Christ's, — to  him  it  may  be  said  with 
equal  truth,  l  Christ  is  yours.'  And  that  is  as  much 
as  to  say,  'All  things  are  yours.'" 

Mr.  Charles  Bell  rather  stared  at  his  friend.  The 
sort  of  glorified  contentment  which  shone  in  Ste 
phen's  face  was  something  quite  incomprehensible 
to  him ;  yet,  as  it  is  the  fashion  of  light  to  reveal 
itself,  he  could  not  fail  to  see  it, — the  sparkle  in 
the  steady  grave  eyes,  the  infinite  sweetness  on 
the  half  parted  lips.  Verily  true  it  is,  that  "he 
that  is  spiritual  discerneth  all  things,  but  he  him 
self  is  discerned  of  no  man." 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  Bell  went 
on  again,  after  a  few  minutes  of  wondering  and 
involuntary  admiration.  "Tell  me  more  particu 
larly.  What  do  you  think  to  accomplish? — all 
alone." 

"  I  shall  try  for  no  more  than  I  can  do,"  Stephen 
answered.  u  I  am  putting  up  a  couple  of  cottages." 


616  STEPHEN,   M  D. 

''Two  houses !      It  would  be  cheaper  to  join  them 
into  one." 

"Yes;  it  would  be  cheaper." 
"  Why  not  have  them  in  one,  then  ?  " 
"  It  would  not  work  as  well.     I  am  not  going 
to  have  an  asylum  or  a  hospital,  but  a  home  for 
sick  and  poor  people;  and  a  home  must  be  home 
like." 

"  You  can't  make  such  a  place  homelike." 
"I'll  'try.  I  mean  to  have  the  people  feel  at 
home.  There  will  be  no  marble  or  gilding  about 
the  place,  Charley,"  Stephen  added,  again  with  an 
amused  smile  at  his  friend.  "  The  whole  will  be  a 
very  inexpensive  affair.  I  shall  do  nothing  I  can 
not  pay  for." 

"It'll  run  up!"  said  Bell  with  a  groan. 
"  I  hope  it  will.     I  want  many  more  than  two 
houses." 

"  It  will  keep  your  bank  account  down  ! " 
"  I  mean  it  shall." 

"Excuse  me,  but — will  you  lay  up  nothing?" 
Stephen  laughed  a  little ;  which  was  somewhat  rare 
with  him.  A  smile  came  upon  his  face  not  infre 
quently,  and  was  thoroughly  frank  and  free  when 
it  came;  laughter  was  rarely  heard.  If  heard  at 
all,  it  was  as  now,  very  low,  and  with  a  marked 
flavour  of  amusement. 

"  I  shall  counsel  you  to  go  and  study  the  parable 
of  the  unjust  steward,"  he  said. 

"  I  never  in  the  least  understood  that  parable  !  " 
"  The  more  reason  why  you  should  study  it." 


BUILDING.  617 

"  But  Stephen,  old  fellow,  you  will  want  to  make 
a  home  for  yourself  one  day  ?  " 

"That's  all  safe  !"  was  the  answer,  given  in  those 
quiet,  assured  tones  which  somehow  Bell  did  not 
like.  A  home  in  this  world,  he  was  sure  they  did 
not  mean. 

"  I  dorit  see  why,  nevertheless,"  he  began  discon 
tentedly,  "it  is  your  duty  to  keep  yourself  poor  for 
the  sake  of  other  people — be  they  never  so  needy. 
And  that  is  what  you  are  in  a  fair  way  to  do." 

"You  mistake  the  whole  matter,  Charley.  It  is 
the  greatest  possible  delight  to  me,  to  be  allowed  to 
do  this  thing  for  my  Master." 

"For  him!"  cried  Bell.  "That's  your  word! 
How  for  him?" 

"  Because  he  wants  it  done.  Do  you  think  he 
cares  less  now  than  when  he  was  on  earth,  to  have 
sickness  healed  and  want  comforted  ?  " 

"Then — if  he  desires  it — why  does  he  not  do  it  ? — 
as  he  did  then  ?  "  Bell  burst  forth. 

"  Because  he  has  given  it  to  you  and  me  to  do." 

Stephen's  look  at  his  friend  was  unanswerable. 
Mr.  Bell  walked  home  feeling  like  one  who  has  sud 
denly  seen  a  landscape  by  a  flash  of  lightning. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

A  FKEEND. 

FOR  some  time  after  his  beginning  the  practice 
of  his  profession,  Stephen  had  remained  dom 
iciled  with  his  friend  the  old  doctor.  Dr.  Bell 
liked  to  have  it  so ;  and  finally  proposed  a  partner 
ship  between  them.  This  was  too  good  a  proposal, 
in  some  respects,  for  Stephen  to  refuse  it;  though 
lie  foresaw  some  possible  hampering  of  his  time  in 
consequence.  However,  by  stern  method  and  untir 
ing  diligence,  he  managed  to  do  all  Dr.  Bell  de 
manded  of  him  and  at  the  same  time  to  devote  as 
much  attention  as  was  necessary  to  his  own  private 
plans  and  patients.  After  a  time' a  widowed  sister 
of  the  old  doctor  came  to  live  with  him,  bringing 
one  or  two  daughters  also;  and  then,  as  far  as  a 
home  was  concerned,  Dr.  Kay  struck  out  for  him 
self.  His  friend  Charles  was  hardly  then  content 
with  his  arrangements,  though  the  old  doctor  nod 
ded  approvingly  and  said  Stephen  had  a  head  on 
his  shoulders.  The  place  he  had  chosen  was  one 
of  the  quiet,  dull-looking  little  courts  of  Boston ; 
that  led  to  nothing  and  had  no  life  in  it.  The  house 
(618) 


A  FRIEND.  619 

was  a  small,  insignificant,  low  brick  house,  of  no 
beauty  or  pretension  whatever;  but  old,  and  com 
fortable  enough  inside,  with  old-fashioned  fire 
places,  and  cupboards  in  the  wall,  and  small  panes 
of  glass  in  the  windows;  the  ceilings  of  the  first 
story  low,  and  consequently  a  low  easy  flight  of 
stairs  to  the  next  and  only  other  story. 

In  the  kitchen  of  this  house,  one  evening  about 
two  years  later  than  the  conversation  given  in  the 
last  chapter,  a  woman  was  busily  ironing.  The 
place  was  neat  enough,  and  so  was  the  woman, 
though  that  was  all  that  could  be  said  for  her.  She 
was  angular,  bony,  and  plain ;  her  hair,  of  a  rusty 
brown,  put  up  high  on  her  head  and  fastened  there 
with  a  tall  comb  of  aspiring  pretensions.  The  rest 
of  her  figure  was  draped  in  a  calico  gown,  the  cal 
ico  being  of  a  large  pattern  and  bright  colours;  so 
that  the  impression  in  looking  at  her  was  that  she 
was  all  spotted  red  and  green  from  head  to  foot. 
If  the  hair  was  rusty  brown,  the  face  might  be  de 
scribed  as  rusty  red ;  and  the  expression  was  of 
stern  business  and  nothing  else. 

Therefore  when  there  came  the  sound  of  a  knock 
at  the  outer  door,  the  expression  changed  to  one  of 
vexation.  She  threw  down  her  holder  and  hurried 
through  the  short  little  entry,  and  opened  the  door. 
There  she  was  confronted  by  a  woman,  an  elderly 
woman,  of  most  respectable  appearance;  in  fact  her 
dress  was  almost  such  as  a  lady  might  have  chosen 
and  worn ;  but — her  skin  was  dark.  She  stood  there 
however  with  great  self-possession,  and  asked, 


620  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Is  de  doctor  in  ?  " 

"  What  doctor?"  was  the  sharp  counter-question. 

"Doctor  Kay.     Aint  dis  yer  his  house?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  aint  in  it.  What  do  ye  want  of 
him  ?  " 

"  I's  done  come  to  see  him." 

"  Then  you  must  come  again.  This  aint  the  office 
neither.  When  the  doctor's  ben  runnin'  all  over 
Boston  all  day,  he  likes  to  hev  a  place  to  come  to 
where  nobody  '11  pester  him ;  and  I  aint  a  goin'  to 
hev  him  pestered;  that's  more  !  " 

"I  don't  want  nuffin  o'  de  office — I  only  wants 
to  see  de  doctor.  When  '11  he  be  home  den  ?  " 

"Dunnow!" 

"  I'se  a  frien'  o'  de  doctor,  dat's  what  I  is;  and  I'se 
done  come  a  good  ways  to  see  him.  Mebbe  ye  '11 
let  me  sit  down  somewheres  and  wait  till  he  '11  be 
dar." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  the  other  ungraciously; 
and  admitting  the  stranger,  she  closed  and  locked 
the  door  again  and  led  the  way  back  to  the  kitchen. 
Here  she  took  up  her  hot  iron  without  any  more 
ado,  and  the  other  woman  sat  down  patiently  in  a 
chair  nearer  the  fire.  For  a  little  while  there  was 
nothing  more  said.  The  stranger's  eyes  took  inter 
ested  notice  of  every  detail  of  the  room  and  its 
furniture;  the  woman  at  her  ironing  had  had  no  ex 
perience  of  coloured  people  and,  as  is  apt  then  to 
be  the  case,  was  shy  and  doubtful  of  them.  She 
drove  her  work  all  the  harder. 

"'Pears  like  de  doctor  haint  much  family,"  the 


A   FRIEND.  621 

stranger  said  at  length.  The  woman  at  the  ironing 
table  turned  and  measured  her  with  an  incensed 
look,  which  however  abated  somewhat  of  its  ire  as 
she  noted  better  the  signs  and  tokens  about  her 
visiter.  The  latter  had  never  been  a  handsome  wo 
man,  even  in  her  youth ;  and  yet  she  had  a  sort  of  per 
sonable  dignity  about  her ;  her  skin  was  very  black, 
shining,  and  still  without  wrinkles;  her  eye,  liquid 
and  soft,  was  also  bright.  Her  carriage  was  good; 
her  bonnet  was  neat;  and  her  black  stuff  dress  fell 
around  her  person  in  quite  stately  folds.  There 
was  nothing  flashy  or  tawdry  about  her ;  she  had  laid 
off  her  shawl  and  loosened  the  strings  of  her  bonnet, 
and  sat  there  with  a  sort  of  contented  assurance. 
And  then  had  come  that  remark  about  Dr.  Stephen's 
small  family. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  was  the  not  polite 
rejoinder. 

"  Wall,  I  wouldn't  want  to  cook  much  o'  a  dinner 
wi'  sich  little  pots  and  skillets.  Mebbe  you  kin. 
I'd  be  sorter  confuse'  like." 

"  Dinner !  "  echoed  the  other.  "  Dinner's  no  con- 
cern  o'  mine,  /don'  know  where  the  doctor  takes 
his'n;  but  taint  here." 

"  Don't  he  take  nuffin  to  home,  'cept  his  bed  ?  " 

"Tea  and  breakfast.  I  must  put  on  the  kettle 
new," — with  a  glance  at  the  clock.  She  threw 
down  her  holder  again,  and  filled  a  tea-kettle  from 
a  pail  in  the  corner. 

"Do  he  hab  his  tea  and  breakfast  all  alone, 
den?" 


622  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Who  should  take  it  with  him  ?  There  aint  even 
a  cat." 

44  Aint  he  gwine  to  get  married,  some  o'  dese  yer 
days  ?  " 

"  Married !  "  cried  the  other.  "  Married !  Dr. 
Kay  has  married  all  Boston.  I  guess  the  ladies 
would  be  skeery  of  him." 

"  He  done  war  a  handsome  feller,  allays,"  the 
coloured  woman  remarked.  "  I  never  see  no  one 
no  ways  skeery  o'  him.  Don't  b'lieve  dey  is, 
nodder." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  with  another  sharp  glance. 

"  I  done  knowed  him  right  smart,"  the  coloured 
woman  said  with  a  sigh.  "Clar,  I  did  use  fur  to 
know  Dr.  Stephen.  Reckon  I  does  yet.  What's 
he  like  now  ?  " 

"  Where  did  you  know  him  ?  " 

uWhar  I  come  from.  I  knowed  him  when  he 
was  little,  and  I  knowed  him  allays,  till  he  done 
gone 'way.  /done  gib  him  his  tea  and  breakfast, 
so  I  did,  in  dem  days.  Now  you's  got  it  to  do. 
Hopes  you  gits  it  for  him  good." 

44  Good  V  "  said  the  other.  "  He  don't  care  what 
he  eats,  Dr.  Kay  don't." 

44  Don't  he  care  what  you  gib  him  ?  " 

44  Not  a  snap.  Ef  he  likes  it  he  eats  it,  and  ef  he 
don't,  he  lets  it  alone.  He  never  says  nothin',  no 
more'n  the  door  knocker.  That  is,  for  hisself.  But 
I  tell  you !  he's  partic'lar  enough  ef  it's  other  peo 
ple's  breakfast  he's  thinkin'  about.  1  tell  you !  they 
has  to  look  sharp  in  that  kitchen." 


A  FRIEND.  623 

"  What  kitchen  ?     Do  he  hab  two  ?  " 

"The  kitchen  for  the  cottages." 

"  What's  datar?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"Don't  know  nuffin.  He  don't  tell,  de  doctor 
don't,  when  he  come  our  way ;  but  I'se  cur'ous  to 
know." 

The  red  and  green  figure  moved  busily  between 
the  fire  and  her  table,  not  seeming  to  care  about 
her  visitor's  curiosity;  her  face  expressed  nothing; 
only  the  tall  comb  on  the  top  of  her  head  had  a  fas 
cination  for  Jonto's  eyes,  and  seemed  to  declare  its 
wearer,  as  Joiito  put  it  afterwards,  "  a  good  deal  o' 
a  highflyer."  The  coloured  woman  waited;  she 
knew  how  to  wait;  and  perhaps  the  other  got  tired 
of  keeping  still. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  as  she  took  a  hot  iron  and 
tried  it,  "the  doctor's  cranky." 

"  What  is  dat  ar,  now  ?  "  said  Jonto  admiringly. 

"  He's  cranky;  that's  wot  he  is.  There's  a  good 
many  folks  in  the  world  is  cranky,  one  way  and 
another;  but  Dr.  Kay  beats  'em  all.  I  never  see 
nothin'  like  him." 

"  Reckon  dat's  so,"  remarked  Jonto. 

"An'  Dr.  Kay  has  took  it  into  his  head  to  look 
arter  all  the  poor  folks  in  Boston." 

"  Wall,  de  doctor  mus'  look  arter  de  poor  folks  as 
well  as  de  rich,  I  reckon,  when  dey  is  sick." 

"  Yes,  but  that  aint  enough.  He  must  put  'em 
up  a  top  o'  everything.  Why  he's  got  'em  there 
in  a  lot  o'  little  houses, — but  you  may  depend,  every 


624  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

one  of  'em's  as  nice  as  a  pin ; — and  one  of  'em  is 
jes'  for  the  cooking  and  nothing  else;  and  ef  you 
went  into  the  rest,  you'd  see  old  folks  and  young 
folks,  sich  as  has  somethin'  bad  the  matter  wi'  'em, 
• — or  maybe  they  aint  so  orf'til  bad  neither,  but 
they've  got  no  place  to  be,  or  no  place  where  they 
can  be  took  keer  of; — and  my !  but  you  ought  to 
see  the  way  they's  took  keer  of  there !  The  best 
o'  everythin' ;  and  what's  more,  they  says  what  they 
will  hev,  like  great  folks;  and  aint  obleeged  to 
swaller  what  they've  no  stomach  for.  I  hev  to  take 
what  the  doctor  sends  in ;  but  ef  one  of  'em  there 
don't  want  b'iled  beef,  she  kin  hev  roast;  and  ef  she 
don't  like  soup  she  kin  hev  her  cup  o'  tea,  any  time 
o'  day.  I  tell  you,  they  doos  hev  a  good  time  !  An' 
the  doctor,  he's  there  o'  mornins  and  he's  there  o' 
nights,  and  there's  no  say  in'  when  he  aint  there. 
An'  I  do  b'lieve  those  old  folks  all  thinks  he's  the 
angel  Gabriel,  come  down  here  to  do  a  spell  o'  work 
without  his  wings ! " 

"De  doctor  mus'  be  rich  man,"  suggested  Jonto, 
whose  eyes  were  growing  brighter  and  brighter. 

"Won't  be  long,  then.  Sich  a  passel  o'  folks 
eats  up  money,  I  tell  you !  An'  /  say,  he  had 
ought  to  take  keer  o'  hisself.  It's  jes'  he's  cranky." 

"  I  hopes  you  takes  good  keer  o'  him  ?  " 

"  Me  !  "  said  the  woman.  "  That's  a  likely  story ! 
He  comes  and  he  goes ;  he's  up  and  he's  down,  and 
he's  all  over.  There  aint  no  takin'  keer  o'  him.  I 
don'  know  when  he'll  be  in,  and  I  don'  know  when, 
he'll  be  out.  It's  discouragin'.  I  do  the  best  I  kin; 


A  FRIEND.  625 

but  when  I've  got  somethin'  extra  ready,  he'll  be 
jes'  sure  to  be  out  of  the  way.  All  he  thinks  of  is 
his  folk  at  the  cottages." 

"Wharbeyon?" 

"  Hey  ?  "  said  the  woman,  looking  at  Jon  to. 

"  Whar's  he  got  dem  little  cottages  ?  " 

"  0  not  so  very  fur ;  jes'  out  o'  Boston  a  bit.  How 
he  do  stay !  now  his  supper  won't  be  no  good." 

"  He's  tol'able  patient,  he  is,"  said  Jonto. 

"Patient?  That's  'cordin'  to  what  you  mean. 
Ef  his  breakfust's  ready,  he'll  eat  it;  and  ef  it  aint, 
he'll  go  off  without.  I  don'  know  ef  that's  what 
you  call  patient." 

"  Has  you  ben  acquainted  wid  him  a  long  while?" 
said  Jonto  softly. 

At  this,  the  wonian  put  down  her  iron  and  took 
a  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  before  Jonto,  with 
her  hands  on  her  hips. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  was,"  said  she.  "I  warn't 
livin'  here,  but  in  a  little  place  o'  my  own,  a  ways 
off;  a  poor  enough  place  it  was  too;  my  man  was 
dead,  some  good  while  before,  and  I  was  gittin' 
along  as  I  could,  wi'  my  two  hands,  arid  a  widder. 
Wall,  one  day  I  was  at  my  table  ironin',  like  as  I 
be  now,  and  glad  enough  to  get  it  to  do,  for  I'd 
ben  as  poor  as  poverty;  when  in  comes  Dr.  Kay. 
I  didn't  know  him,  no  more'n  Adam;  but  he'd  got 
my  name,  somehow.  Mrs.  Peaseley,'  says  he,  '  I've 
come  to  tell  you  o'  some  trouble.' — '  I  dare  say,' 
says  I ;  *  there's  no  want  o'  trouble  in  the  world ;  ef 
it  aint  one  thing,  it's  another.  I've  ben  expectin' 


626  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

to  hear  o'  somethin',  ever  sen  I  got  the  washin'  to 
do  for  them  two  ladies;' — for  you  see,  before  that, 
I  didn't  know  where  I  was  goin'  to  get  bread  to 
eat.  '  So  what  is  it  now  ? '  I  says  to  him.  Says 
he,  lookin'  at  me  as  steady  as  the  full  moon,  *  Your 
little  boy  has  had  an  accident,'  says  he;  'it's  noth 
ing  but  can  be  made  good  again ;  but  he's  rather 
badly  hurt.' — 'It's  jes'  like  him,'  says  I.  'An' 
what  hev  ye  done  with  him  ? '  *  Will  you  come  to 
him  and  see  ? '  says  he.  '  As  soon  as  ever  I  git 
my  hands  out  o'  this  job,'  says  I,  '  I'll  come.  Where 
will  I  find  him?" — Wall,  you  may  believe  the 
way  I  wrung  out  my  clothes  warn't  slow  arter  that; 
•and  I  started. 

"  An'  do  you  believe,  here  I  found  him  ?  up  stairs 
there  in  the  doctor's  own  room,  fixed  up  on  a  little 
cot  bed ;  all  as  nice  and  spic  •  and  span  as  ef  he'd 
ben  anythiii'  else  but  what  he  was — Job  Peaseley's 
little  boy.  An'  he,  he  looked  at  me  out  of  his  eyes 
as  ef  he  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  hisself.  Well, 
I  Avas  beat,  you  may  depend !  and  I  stood  and 
stared ;  but  the  only  thing  I  could  say  was,  '  How's 
ever  I  to  git  him  home?'  says  I.  'He  can't  be 
moved,'  says  the  doctor;  'he's  doin'  fine,  but  you 
can't  move  him.'  '  I  can't  be  in  two  places  to  once,' 
says  I;  'and  who's  goin'  to  take  keer  of  him?' 
'  Can't  you  come  here  and  do  it  ? '  says  he.  '  An' 
what's  to  become  o'  my  bread  and  butter?'  says  I. 
'It's  to  home  in  them  wash  tubs;  and  hard  enough 
to  git  anyhow;  and  now  the  doctor's  bills  '11  hev  to 
come  out  of  it.  I'll  hev  to  scratch  to  feed  myself 


A  FRIEND.  627 

too,'  says  I.  '  What  kin  you  do  ? '  says  the  doctor, 
says  he,  looking  straight  at  me.  'Do?'  says  I; 
'there  aint  many  things,  I  guess,  I  cant  do,  ef  I 
liev  the  chance.'  'Well,'  says  he,  'one  thing  is 
sartain ;  you've  got  to  come  here  and  look  arter 
your  boy,  'cause,  ye  see,  I  aint  to  home  only  now 
and  then  by  spells.  So  you  put  up  your  wash  tubs, 
and  come  right  along  over;  and.  I'll  see  you  git 
your  bread  and  butter  somehow.' — Well,  I've  ben 
here  ever  sen." 

**  Dat's  him ! "  said  Jonto,  with  an  immensely 
satisfied  glint  in  her  eye. 

"  Well,  do  you  know,  out  o'  my  Sam  growed  all 
them  cottages  ?  Jes'  that.  For  Sam  warn't  cured, 
by  no  means,  when  the  doctor  he  found  somebody 
else  what  wanted  the  best  o'  care  and  hadn't  no 
chance  to  git  it.  Why,  bless  you !  what  would  I 
ha'  done  wi'  my  boy  in  that  bit  of  a  place  where  we 
was  livin'  ?  I  couldn't  ha'  fixed  him  no  sort  o'  ways 
comfortable,  and  I  hadn't  a  crumb  o'  anything  fit 
for  him  to  eat;  for  sick  folks  aint  like  well  folks." 

"  Dat's  so,"  said  Jonto. 

"They  wants  notions,  and — Wall,  the  doctor  he 
was  as  particular  about  Sam  as  ef  he'd  been  any 
lady.  What  all  didn't  I  hev  to  do,  with  beef  tea 
and  jelly,  and  oranges — My !  how  he  did  eat  or 
anges  !  and  I  couldn't  ha'  got  him  hardly  one ;  and 
they  was  the  very  bestest  thing  for  him,  the  doctor 
said.  So  then,  when  Dr.  Kay  found  some  more 
folks  that  wanted  fust-rate  keer  and  couldn't  git 
none — he  come  home  one  night  and  telled  me; 


628  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

and,  says  he,  *  I  shall  hev  to  git  some  bigger  place 
fixed  up  for  'era'; — and  he  stood  and  looked  as 
grave  as  ef  he'd  ha'  hed  the  nation  on  his  shoulders; 
and  it  was  only  a  lot  o'  poor  broken-up  folks,  that 
warn't  nothin'  to  nobody  in  this  world. — There! 
do  you  think  I  know  somethin'  o'  Dr.  Kay  ? — My ! 
what'll  I  ever  git  him  for  his  supper  to-night?  he 
went  off  and  never  telled  me." 

Jonto  offered  no  suggestion,  although  several 
occurred  to  her.  Mrs.  Peaseley  turned  and  put  up 
her  ironing  table. 

"  Sam,  he  got  well  beautiful,"  she  remarked. 

Then  there  came  a  click  in  the  lock  of  the 
house  door,  and  steps  sounded  in  the  hall  over 
head.  Then  a  door  within  was  opened  and  shut. 

"You  kin  go  up  now,  I  guess,  if  you  want  to  see 
him,"  Mrs.  Peaseley  said.  "The  doctor's  there." 

Jonto  slowly  ascended  the  short  stairway,  and 
knocked  at  the  door  to  which  she  had  been 
directed. 

"Come  in!"  cried  a  voice.  "What  is  it,  Mrs. 
Peaseley  ?  " 

Jonto  had  entered  and  saw  Stephen  bending 
over  a  big  book  on  the  table.  The  room  was  full 
, of  books.  It  seemed  to  her  a  grand  room  too;  for 
though  the  house  was  small,  this  room  was  not;  it 
took  up  the  whole  width  of  the  building  at  the 
back.  It  was  comfortable  and  pretty;  dark  car 
peted,  dark  hung,  where  the  walls  could  be  seen ; 
furnished  with  very  comfortable  chairs  and  lounges, 
and  a  good  large  study  table,  which  looked  impos- 


A  FRIEND.  629 

ing  to  Jonto's  eyes  from  the  numbers  of  pretty 
things  upon  it.  Things  unknown  to  her  certainly; 
but  the  glitter  of  crystal  and  the  shining  of  bright 
brass,  and  bronze  articles,  all  lit  up  by  a  hanging 
lamp  which  gave  a  brilliant  illumination  just 
over  the  table,  gave  Jonto  a  pleasant  feeling  that 
Stephen  had  things  nice  and  as  they  should  be 
about  him.  All  this  was  in  a  minute  or  two,  dur 
ing  which  she  stood  still  just  inside  the  door;  then, 
finding  the  silence  continue,  Stephen  lifted  up  his 
head  and  looked  her  way.  Eagerly  Jonto  scanned 
that  first  look.  It  was  not  very  different  from  her 
old  darling  as  she  used  to  see  him  at  Cowslip.  A 
man's  face,  it  is  true,  and  with  the  gravity  of  more 
years  and  life  work  upon  it;  but  Stephen's  face  had 
always  been  manly,  even  when  it  was  the  face  of 
a  little  boy.  And  the  old  peace  and  sweetness, 
Jonto  saw,  was  there  yet. 

Stephen  knit  his  brows  a  little,  in  the  endeavour 
to  see  plainly  from  under  the  blinding  light  in 
which  he  stood;  then  his  brow  cleared  with  wonder 
and  finally  with  joy.  He  sprang  towards  his  visi- 
ter  and  seized  her  hand. 

"Jonto  !  "  he  cried, — "  my  dear  Jonto !  "  And  I 
do  not  know  if  Stephen's  next  action  would  be 
very  shocking  to  most  of  those  who  will  read  of 
it;  but  he  stooped  and  kissed  the  old  black  cheek. 
Jonto  was  mightily  pleased;  too  much  pleased  at 
first  to  speak. 

"  Well  ye's  pretty  much  what  I  used  to  see 
you! "  she  burst  out.  "  Ye  aint  nohow  differ." 


630  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Did  you  think  I  would  be?  Come  here  and  sit 
down," — and  he  rolled  up  an  easy  chair  for  her. 
"  What's  brought  you  to  Boston  ?  "  And  then  he 
added  with  a  sudden  shadowing  of  his  bright  brow, 
"Are  they  all  well?" 

"  Dey  is  well,"  said  Jonto.  "  Dey  is  well,  as 
folks  kin  be.  Aint  not'ing  de  matter  wi'  none  of 
'em.' 

"What's  brought  you  here,  then  ?" 

"Don'  jes'  know! — Tears  like  I  had  to  come; 
couldn't  stay  quiet  nohow.  'Clar,  de  ole  place  aint 
right  no  mo',  wi'out  you  in  de  little  room  up  de 
star'.  I  gits  lonesome,  I  does;  dat's  a  fact." 

Stephen  did  not  immediately  say  anything  more; 
he  was  bending  down  to  set  a  match  to  the  wood 
laid  ready  in  the  chimney ;  and  then  watching  the 
fire  catch,  and  giving  it  a  helping  touch  or  two. 
It  was  an  old-fashioned  roomy  fire-place,  with  old 
brass  andirons,  on  which  a  pile  of  sticks  was  artis 
tically  arranged.  Presently  the  blaze  was  spring 
ing  up  and  crackling  and  flashing  its  light  through 
all  the  room ;  catching,  as  Jonto  did  not  fail  to  no 
tice,  the  Japanese  screen,  which  stood  not  far  from 
one  end  of  the  table,  looking  very  rich  with  the 
fire  on  its  olive  gold.  Then  Stephen  went  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs  and  called  Mrs.  Peaseley. 

"  Mrs.  Peaseley,  I  have  a  friend  to  tea." 

"I  didn't  know  that,  doctor." 

"Nor  I,  till  just  now.     She  is  only  just  come." 

"That  woman  what  was  down  here  waitin'  fur 
you?" 


A  FRIEND.  631 

"  Yes.  I  want  you  to  get  a  very  good  supper 
for  her." 

"Wkere'll  she  have  it?" 

"  Here — with  me.  Do  your  very  best,  Mrs. 
Peaseley;  she  understands  such  things.  And  let 
us  have  it  as  soon  as  you  can." 

The  last  words  had  been  with  a  little  change  of 
tone,  and  Stephen  came  back  smiling  into  the 
room. 

"It's  the  nicest  thing  that  could  have  hap 
pened  !  "  he  said;  u  that  you  should  come  and  look 
me  up  here.  It  gives  me  more  pleasure  than  you 
can  think.  I  see  a  great  many  faces,  Jonto ;  but 
only  a  few  friends." 

Jonto  looked  at  him  keenly,  even  anxiously. 
She  had  been  right;  he  was  not  changed,  in  essen 
tial  characteristics,  that  is.  There  was  the  more 
mature  expression  of  greater  life  experience;  the 
graver  air  that  comes  with  deeper  life-work;  the 
calm  and  the  sweetness  of  his  face  were  but  en 
hanced  thereby.  Yet  Jonto  studied  him  soberly, 
hardly  satisfied. 

"  Is  you  nebber  gwine  to  hab'  no  mo',  Mr.  Ste 
phen  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"  No  more  what  ?  " 

"No  mo'  frien's  but  dat  ar?" 

"01  hope  so.  I  make  a  new  one  every  now 
and  then.  Still  there  are  no  friends  like  old  ones, 
onto." 

"  'Spect  dat's  so.     Dat's  why  a  man  had  bes'  hab 

wife." 


632  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,"  said  Stephen  easily. 

"  Aint  it  mos'  time  fur  you,  Mr.  Stephen  ?  " 

u  For  me  ?     No,  Jonto,  thank  you." 

The  answer  was  grave,  not  gloomy;  also  it  was 
decided.  But  Jonto  went  on. 

"  Aint  it  nebber  gwine  to  be  time,  Mr.  Stephen?" 

His  words  this  time  did  not  come  without  some 
delay;  when  they  did  come  they  were,  as  before, 
gentle,  grave  and  determined;  and  the  speaker's 
face  was  not  clouded,  though  very  grave.  There 
was  rather  a  high  light  upon  it,  from  the  spirit's 
shining. 

"You  love  me,  Jonto,"  he  said;  "and  you  are 
the  only  one  in  the  world  that  has  a. right  to  ask 
me  that  question.  Don't  let  your  kind  heart  be 
troubled  about  me.  I  am  perfectly  happy,  and 
perfectly  contented.  I'll  take  you  to-morrow  and 
shew  you  my  poor  people ;  then  you'll  understand 
my  life  better  than  you  do  now,  and  how  full  of 
good  things  it  is." 

"  Dat  Mis'  Peaseley,  she  tell  me  'bout  'em,"  said 
Jonto,  with  ready  tact  following  Stephen's  lead, 
and  quitting  the  subject  she  saw  he  wished  to 
regard  as  disposed  of.  "  Is  dey  all  sick  folks,  sure 
'nuff?" 

"  Sick,  or  disabled  somehow.  And  they  are  peo 
ple  that  would  have  no  home  nor  care  if  they  did 
not  have  this." 

"Who  has  de  care  ob  'em  den  when  you  aint 
dar?" 

"  There  is  some  one  in  charge  in  every  cottage. 


A  FRIEND.  633 

But  I  wish  I  had  you  there  to  look  after  my  cook 
ery,  Jonto." 

"  What's  dat?" 

"  The  things  that  must  be  got  ready  for  my  sick 
people  to  eat.  They  must  eat,  you  know;  and  it 
is  the  most  that  can  be  done  for  some  of  them." 

"  An'  does  you  gib  'em  jes'  eberyt'ing  dey  takes 
a  notion  dey  wants  ?  " 
"Who  told  you  I  did?" 
"  Dat  ar  woman  wid  de  speckle'  gown.'* 
"  She  mistakes  a  little,"   Stephen  said  smiling. 
"But  you  know  sick  people  are  often  fanciful;  and 
anybody  gets  tired  of  regulation  meals;  so  I  let 
them  choose  every  day  what  they  will  have  for 
their  dinner,  provided  only  it  is  something  they 
can  have  and  that  is  on  hand.     I  send  in  the  sup 
plies.     But  then   I  want  somebody  there  to  take 
charge,  and  use  things  properly,  and  prepare  every 
thing  as  it  ought  to  be  prepared." 

"  Does  de  folks  git  well  fast  out  dar  ?  " 
"Most  of  them  will  never  get  well.  I  cannot 
help  all  the  suffering  in  Boston,  Jonto;  so  I  send 
to  my  cottages,  for  the  most  part,  only  such  cases 
as  are  helpless  and  homeless.  Some  of  them  then, 
with  rest  and  good  food,  get  well  beyond  my  ex 
pectations;  the  others  never  will." 

"  Does  dey  pay  you  nuffin',  Mr.  Stephen  ?  " 
"  No,  Jonto.     They  have  no  power  to  pay  even 
for  a  doctor's  visits." 

"  Den  who's  gwine  to  pay  you  all  dat  ?  " 
Stephen  gave  her  one  of  the  bright,  sweet  looks 


634=  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

that  were  peculiar  to  him ;  there  was  the  simplicity 
of  the  boy  in  it,  and  the  fire  of  the  man. 

"It  is  not  my  money,"   he   said.     "Don't   you 
know  that?     I  am  only  a  servant.     And  the  Lord 
put  the  means  in  my  hand,  and  told  me  to  take 
care  of  these  miserable  lost  ones." 
"  Was  dey  lost  ones  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  he  said  gravely. 
"An5  is  any  ob  'em  done  foun'  ?  " 
"  Yes !     And  I  hope  they  all  will  be." 
"  Tears  like  dat  ar  place  mus'  be  de  very  nex 
place  to  de  golden  gates !  "  said  Jonto,  with  eyes 
that  glistened  in  the  firelight.     Stephen  went  on, 
giving  her  details  of  what  he  knew  so  much  in 
terested  her;  till  at  last  the  "speckled  gown"  made 
its  appearance,  and  Mrs.  Peaseley  drew  out  a  table 
near  the  fire,  and  in  stately  silence  proceeded  to 
Bpread  it. 

''Have  you  made  coffee,  Mrs.  Peaseley?" 
"  Coffee !     You  allays  takes  tea,  doctor." 
"  I  do ;  but  rny  old  friend  here  likes  coffee  better. 
Make  a  cup,  as  good  as  you  can,  Mrs.  Peaseley;  she 
is  a  judge  of  what's  good,  I  can  tell  you." 
"Don't  b'lieve  there  aint  no  coffee  burned." 
"Well,  burn  some,  then;  all  the  better;  it  ought 
to  be.fresh  roasted,  I  remember." 

"  An'  is  it  your  mind,  that  the  supper's  to  wait, 
till  I  git  the  berries  burned?"  inquired  the  doctor's 
factotum,  in  great  disapprobation. 

"Yes;  and  see  how  quick  you  can  be,  Mrs. 
Peaseley."  Then  turning  to  Jonto  with  a  smile, 


A  FRIEND.  635 

he  went  on — "  Do  you  remember  the  first  cup 
of  coffee  you  gave  me  at  Cowslip?  that  first 
Sunday  morning  ?  " 

"'Spect  you  forgits  not'ing,  Mr.  Stephen  !  " 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  that,  nor  how  good  it  was. 
Posie  wanted  you  to  give  her  some,  you  remember? 
and  you  wouldn't." 

"  Dat  chile  nebber  knowed  what  she  wanted." 

There  was  silence. 

"  Does  you  ebber  see  her,  Mr.  Stephen  ?  " 

"  No.     Not  since  I  left  Cowslip." 

"  An'  aint  ye  gwine  to  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  I  hear  from  her,  quite  often,  J on 
to;  and  she  is  a  dear  sister  to  me.  I  cannot  afford 
to  risk  all  that  she  is  to  me,  by  going  to  see  her. 
It  is  best  so.  You  know  what  you  said  to  me  when 
I  was  coming  away, — 'The  Lord's  love  is  better 
than  all  other.'  I  have  that; — and  it  is  true." 

"Bat  is  you  allays  gwine  to  live  alone,  Mr. 
Stephen  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  alone,"  he  answered  very  contentedly. 
"  I  am  not  ever  alone.  Don't  you  know  what  was 
said  to  the  Israelites  of  old, — 'The  Lord  is  with 
you,  if  ye  be  with  him  '  ?  It  is  true  in  more  ways 
than  one.  Make  your  mind  easy,  Jonto;  I  have  all 
I  want  in  this  world;  and  if  you  think  I  am  sep 
arated  from  7^er,  you  are  mistaken.  She  is  in  my 
thoughts  and  makes  part  of  my  life,  as  truly  as  ever 
she  did.  Only,  in  this  way  I  have  her  in  all  her 
Avays  and  times — from  a  little  child  up.  That  little 
child  in  the  blue  frock  and  white  apron  is  my  pos- 


636  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

session  now  as  much  as  ever;  unchangeable  and 
precious." 

"  Dey  is  gwine  down  to  see  her  dis  fall,"  Jonto 
remarked,  as  Stephen  was  silent. 

"  Her  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"Dat's  what  dey  is.  Mis'  Har'nbrook,  she  don' 
nebber  know  what  to  do  wid  herself;  and  Mr.  Har'n 
brook,  'spect  he's  made  as  much  money  as  he  keers 
fur;  dey's  gwine  down  to  Maryland,  fur  sure,  and 
dey  is  gwine  to  stay  all  de  winter  dar ;  'spects  dey'll 
nebber  t'ink  dey  can't  come  home  no  mo'." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Jonto  ?  " 

"Dun  know.  Knows  right  smart  what  I'd  like 
to  do." 

"  What  is  that?  Come  and  take  care  of  me?"  he 
said  with  a  very  bright  face. 

"  Can't  stay  no  place  whar  I  can't  make  de  cof 
fee  ! "  said  Jonto.  Stephen  laughed. 

"You  shall  do  that.  Suppose  for  the  present  you 
make  the  coffee  at  my  cottages? — that  would  be 
taking  double  care  of  me — until,  Jonto,  I  can  ar 
range  for  you  to  take  the  management  here?  Hey? 
how  say  you  to  that  ?  " 

"Does  you  want  me,  sure  and  sartain,  Mr.  Ste 
phen  ?  " 

"Want  you?  ^Tonto,  it  would  be  the  greatest 
possible  comfort  and  the  greatest  happiness  to  me; 
the  only  thing,  in  fact,  that  I  do  want  still.  So 
that's  what  you  came  to  Boston  for  ?  "  he  added  ju 
bilantly.  "  That  is  capital !  " 

"Dun  know,"  said  Jonto.    "I  allays  'spected  dar 


A  FRIEND.  637 

was  a  meanin'  in  it,  why  ole  Mass'  Har'nbrook  he 
took  de  notion  he'd  go  down  Souf  dis  partic'lar  fall. 
Dey  is  want  me  to  go  wid  'em ;  and  Miss  Posie  she 
writ  for  me  to  come ;  but,"  said  Jonto  with  a  chuckle, 
"  I  don't  want  to  stay  nowhar  dat  I  can't  make  de  cof 
fee.  'Spects  de  way  dey  hab  it  down  dar  wouldn't 
agree  wid  me.  An'  ef  you  t'inks  you  wants  me, 
Mr.  Stephen—" 

"Then  that's  settled,"  exclaimed  Stephen,  joyous 
ly;  "and  here's  supper  for  you,  Jonto." 

Mrs.  Peaseley  brought  in  at  the  minute  a  very 
large  tray,  which  she  set  down  on  the  floor,  and 
then  lifted  the  various  things  upon  it  and  disposed 
them  on  the  table  before  the  fire;  moving  with  a 
stiff  angularity  which  testified  to  some  uncomforta 
ble  protest  going  on  in  her  mind  against  the  order 
of  things.  Her  face  had  no  expression.  Stephen 
ordered  the  coffee  pot  set  down  by  the  fire,  and  de 
sired  a  larger  supply  of  butter  and  cream  to  be 
brought.  "You  forget  I  am  not  alone,  Mrs.  Pease- 
ley,"  he  said.  "Now  Jonto!  Do  you  remember 
a  savoury  pigeon  you  gave  to  a  hungry  little  boy 
one  night,  a  long  while  ago  ?  I  have  nothing  so 
good  for  you;  but  you  shall  have  the  best  I've  got." 

"  Does  you  remember  eberyting,  Mr.  Stephen  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  remember." 

Jonto,  if  she  were  not  as  hungry  as  that  little 
boy  that  particular  night,  perhaps  enjoyed  her  sup 
per  as  much ;  for  Stephen  attended  to  her  with  the 
most  affectionate  care;  and  the  old  woman  sunned 
herself,  as  it  were,  in  his  presence  and  kindness. 


638  STEPHEN,  M.D. 

He  saw  to  it  afterwards  that  she  was  well  lodged ; 
and  the  next  morning  took  her  out,  as  he  had  pro 
posed,  to  see  his  cottages  and  his  poor  people.  And 
the  programme  sketched  between  them  the  pre 
vious  night,  it  may  be  here  stated,  was  fully  carried 
out  and  passed  into  fact. 


CHAPTER    LIT. 

NEWS. 

v 

IT  was  as  Jonto  opined  it  would  be.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hardenbrotik,  once  in  Posie's  society 
again,  could  never  leave  it.  They  took  up  their 
abode  in  her  neighbourhood.  Yet  could  not  al 
ways  keep  in  her  neighbourhood,  for  Mr.  Dun- 
stable's  business  led  him  to  move  occasionally  from 
place  to  place,  and  it  hardly  suited  their  comfort 
sometimes  to  follow  where  he  went. 

One  of  these  times  had  come,  a  few  years  later 
than  the  date  of  Jonto's  taking  up  her  abode  in 
Boston.  Posie  had  been  obliged  to  go  with  her 
husband  to  a  distance,  and  the  two  elder  people 
were  left  somewhat  disconsolately  alone  again. 
They  were  nicely  settled  in  a  pleasant  home;  but 
now  nevertheless  they  were  thinking  of  pulling  up 
stakes  and  moving  after  their  daughter.  What 
better  had  they  to  do  ? 

Meantime,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  came  in  to  tea  one 
evening,  and  found  his  wife  as  in  old  times  waiting 
for  him.  He  had  brought  postal  despatches  with 

him,  also  as  of  old;  and  gave  Mrs.  Hardenbrook 

(639) 


640  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

some  letters,  while  he  sat  down  to  study  the  news 
paper.  Neither  of  the  pair  was  much  changed 
from  what  they  had  been  in  Cowslip;  Mrs.  Har- 
denbrook  was  a  trifle  more  lively  as  to  her  dress, 
and  her  husband  perhaps  a  little  less  lively  in  the 
expression  of  his  face.  Having  nothing  to  do  did 
not  agree  with  him. 

There  was  a  little  time  of  silence  and  crack 
ling  an.d  rustling  of  paper,  as  letters  were  un 
folded  and  the  newspaper  was  turned;  and  then 
the  lady  broke  out,  with  a  climax  of  emphasis 
and  most  urgent  demand  upon  her  husband's 
attention. 

"Mr.  Hardenbrook! — Mr.  HardenbrooJc! — MR. 
HARDENBROOK  ! " — 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  withdrew  his  mind  from  his 
paper  and  lifted  his  head ;  patient,  not  expectant. 

"  Here  is  news !  Guess.  Just  guess  once  what 
it  is.  But  you  cannot." 

"Then  why  should  I  try?" 

"  Guess,   Mr.   Hardenbrook  !  " 

"I  cannot  possibly  guess  your  secrets,  my 
dear." 

"  It's  not  my  secret.  It's  not  a  secret  at  all  by 
this  time.  Of  course  it's  all  over.  It's  about  Ste 
phen  Kay." 

"  I  know  about  Stephen." 

"  How  do  you  know ?     What  do  you  know?  " 

"Stephen  writes  to  me.  I  suppose  I  know  all 
that  you  have  got  there." 

"Do  you  know" — (impressively)  "that  Stephen 


NEWS.  641 

Kay  has  set  himself  up  to  be  Governor  of  the 
State?" 

The  lady's  accent  implied  indignant  incredulity 
and  strong  disapproval.  Mr.  Hardenbrook  laid  his 
newspaper  down. 

"He  has  not  'set  himself  up'  at  all;  that  is  not 
Stephen's  way ;  never  was.  He  has  not  done  it,  nor 
sought  it;  and  don't  care  for  it." 

"  You  believe  that  ?  "  said  the  lady  severely. 

"I  know  it." 

"  Who  told  you  so,  Mr.  Hardenbrook  ?" 

11  Stephen  told  me  himself." 

"Well  you  know  that  means  nothing.  They  all 
say  that." 

"  You  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  Stephen 
Kay  never  says  anything  that  is  not  as  true  as 
gold." 

"  Stephen  Kay  !— Governor !  " 

"  I  told  you  that  boy  would  stand  in  high  places. 
He'll  make  a  first-rate  governor;  as  he  has  made 
a  first-rate  doctor." 

"/  wouldn't  want  to  trust  myself  in  his  hands, 
though ! " 

"  You  couldn't  be  in  better.  Massachusetts  will 
be  well  off  for  the  term  of  one  governor  ! " 

"  You  always  were  absurd  about  Stephen  !  " 

"  You  see  I  have  company.  Yes,  Stephen  Kay 
is  one  bright  spot  in  my  life. 

A  silence  fell,  and  lasted  several  minutes.  Mr. 
Hardenbrook  took  up  his  paper  again ;  his  wife  sat 
thinking,  with  a  raised  eyebrow,  and  her  foot  patting 


642  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

the  floor.  Then  she  began  again,  in  a  hesitating 
way. 

"Mr.  Hardenbrook— " 

He  looked  up  again.     "  Well  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  think,  in  old  times,  that  Stephen 
had  a  fancy  for  Posie  ?  " 

Some  sound  between  a  grunt  and  a  groan  came 
from  Mr.  Hardenbrook. 

"  I  was  dreadfully  afraid  of  something  of  that 
kind." 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  you,  it  was  true" 

"Did  he  ever  speak?"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook, 
suddenly  lifting  his  head  which  had  sunk. 

"  No.  Don't  look  at  me  so,  Mr.  Hardenbrook ! 
No;  he  never  got  so  far  as  that.  He  didn't  say 
anything." 

"I  hope  you  are  mistaken,  then." 

"I  am  not  mistaken.  I  know  how  it  was.  I 
knew  at  the  time.  Erick  came  along,  you  know, 
just  at  the  right  minute." 

"  Did  Posie  tell  you  anything  ?  " 

"Not  a  word.  She  didn't  know.  Posie  was 
as  simple  as  Stephen  was.  She  didn't  under 
stand  anything.  But  if  Erick  had  not  come,  just 
at  the  right ^time,  I  know  what  would  have  hap 
pened." 

Mr.  Hardenbrook  meditated  moodily,  and  then 
took  up  his  paper  again. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  it !  "  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to 
say  a  word  against  Erick — " 

"No,  Mr.  Hardenbrook,  you  had  better  not"  said 


NEWS.  643 

his  wife,  tapping  her  foot  vigorously  against  her 
stool,  as  was  her  manner  when  disturbed.  "  You 
had  better  not,  seeing  he  is  the  husband  of  your 
daughter.  But  how  queer  things  have  come  out ! 
Your  Stephen,  governor  of  Massachusetts ! — If  we 
had  known — " 

"Known!"  echoed  her  husband.  /'It  would 
have  made  no  difference  with  Posie.  She  pre 
ferred  the  other,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

"It  might  have  made  a  difference  with  me, 
though.  Erick  don't  seem  to  get  along  so  aston 
ishingly  well,  as  I  see.  Just  think,  Mr.  Harden- 
brook ! — it  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad.  We  might 
have  lived  in  Boston." 

"She  has  made  her  choice,"  said  Mr.  Harden- 
brook  with  a  sigh.  "  Not  my  choice ;  but  we  can 
not  manage  these  things." 

Wherewith  the  good  man  tried  to  go  back  to  his 
paper ;  but  the  lady  was  still  busy  with  her  thoughts, 
and  could  not  let  him  alone. 

"And  he  has  got  Jonto  too,"  she  observed. 
"Jonto,  I  really  think,  might  have  staid  with 
us." 

"Jonto  is  suited,"  said  Mr.  Hardenbrook  shortly. 
He  had  paid  a  visit  to  Stephen,  it  may  be  noted, 
and  in  his  secret  heart  was  meditating  another,  the 
first  had  been  so  good. 

u  Suited !  I'll  warrant  it.  And  now,  you  may 
depend,  she  is  as  proud  as  a  peacock." 

"  She  isn't  the  only  one.  Proud  ?  yes,  I  have  no 
doubt  she  is ;  and  so  am  I !  I  am  proud  of  my  boy, 


644  STEPHEN,   M.D. 

for  he  is  my  boy  yet.     He  hasn't  changed  a  jot,  ex 
cept  for  the  better." 

"I  should  think  it  was  a  little  change,   to  be 
Governor  Kay.     I  pity  Massachusetts !  " 


THE    END. 


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